Sorry, I'm Still Catching Up With My Brain, It's Terribly Fast
by 221b177a
Summary: Lily Starling was just a SHIELD scientist. Then she moved into 221C Baker Street. Then she met him. Then the Avengers happened. And from then on it just became kind of wild. Really wild. *Eventual* Sherlock X OC Not really a crossover but both Sherlock and the MCU are key to the plot. Follows the adventures, struggles and thoughts of OC. (1st POV) Adheres to canon events.
1. (0) Summary and Disclaimers -important-

Hi guys, thanks for clicking :)

As said on the summary, this will be mainly Sherlock-centric but the MCU events after The Avengers according to the timeline happen after TRF so things will definitely pick up from there. The Marvel Cinematic Universe is good. Really good, look at their reviews both critically and by the audience and their box office stats. And I'm sure you've seen the buzz about the Infinity War Trailer...

DISCLAIMERS

Obviously, I don't own anything except for the OCs I have (ie. Lily Starling and some unimportant characters and names which I will tell you if they are OCs)

Anyway this is a chapter by chapter summary, which I will keep updating as I write the chapters.

Chapter 1: 221C Baker Street

Just an introduction, nothing much happens.

Chapter 2: The Violin

A small development in Sherlock and the OC's relationship.

Chapter 3: Baskerville

Follows canon events.

Chapter 4: The Hound

Mainly canon events, but quite different in the final confrontation and some character development.

Chapter 5: Games

Nothing happens, just that Sherlock and the OC have a bit of fun at home (it's completely clean and friendship-based btw)

Chapter 6: James Moriarty

The Reichenbach Fall, first half. Follows canon events.

Chapter 7: The Reichenbach Fall

Continues with canon events

Chapter 8: The Plan

Non-canon events- mixes in with some SHIELD (Marvel) terminology and easter eggs to some stuff.

I hope you'll have fun reading this. It's my first fic on ffn so...

Btw I still ship Johnlock as my ultimate brOTP :' technically everyone who watches Sherlock should their bromance is amazing and I probably didn't do it justice here.


	2. (1) 221C Baker Street -intro-

221C Baker Street

Moving to London may have been either the best or the worst decision of my entire miserable life.

Okay, maybe that sounded a bit cliche, and it probably is. I mean, I did meet my best friends there, I did have a few outlandish experiences and I did have fun, to put it that way, but I also got nearly killed, literally, and the emotional stress living with them put me under was quite frankly something I never wished happened to anyone else.

But it's okay, because here I am, writing about my experiences, and I'm probably gonna sugar-coat it a bit. You could always imagine worse though, by default assuming everything I say is euphemism.

Anyway.

My name is Lily Starling. I grew up and was educated in Cambridge, graduated with a long list of honours and perhaps was a bit of a genius. That's humble since you'll see what is not humble later on. Anyway, I was quite a star student, to be honest (the fact that it's me talking about myself doesn't change how I would narrate any other story). I don't know, I've always felt that people around me were so inadequate. Here I was, conducting bleeding edge research into technologies and biologies far beyond the understanding of the everyday guy. It was quite messed up, to be honest, because by the time Bruce Banner turned into the Hulk, all of pre-modern science had been established and in the end we had to change a lot of it. A lot.

Yeah, but despite all of this, I was an introverted nasty arrogant prick with no life. Nobody would want to settle down with me (which seemed pretty good, considering the shit most of my friends go through in their 30s), at least until I met someone just like me. Yeah. So anyway after all my theoretical research at Cambridge, I got a job at SHIELD's European branch in London. A bunch of burecreatic proceedings later, I got top secret access and basically turned into a secret agent slash glorified scientist. I had access to the kind of technologies you only saw in Stark Industries, and even better.

With the reveal of Tony Stark (I was a huge fan) being Iron Man, things at SHIELD blew up even more than after the Hulk. There were, you know, all sorts of problems- government organisations, weapons technology and the undeniable attractiveness of Tony Stark. I decided to move into central London, and found a nice low-profile house in Baker Street.

My landlady at 221C Baker Street was called Mrs Hudson. She was a fairly decent and normal little old lady who somehow (I didn't ask) had money for property in central london. Her nifty place at 221 Baker Street had 3 separate rental rooms: 221A, 221B and 221C. She lived in 221A and me in 221C, while 221B was taken up by two of the weirdest people ever. Correction: the weirdest person ever and his normal friend who got influenced the wrong way and mixed in with the bad lot.

It was my first day at Baker Street and I was shifting my two suitcases into my room. I had (or rather SHIELD had) arranged for furniture to be brought in and man can I say their design skills were great. They transformed the dingy basement apartment into a sleek Tony Stark-like lair with high-tech gadgets. Wow. Just the everyday surprise for a regular SHIELD worker.

Suddenly, there was a loud bang from upstairs, definitely a gunshot. Okay, being a SHIELD scientist who had had experience working in field, I was pretty trained in defending myself, so I instinctively tensed up. However, Mrs Hudson just chuckled, "Oh, it's Sherlock again. Sorry, you'll have to put up with that while you're here, he's always a bit nutty."

I raised my eyebrows and took my hands away from my weapon. Okay, weapon is ambiguous, but what was I supposed to call it? All SHIELD operatives had this thing which was a combination of a gun, a tranquiliser and a taser that we were allowed to carry that everywhere. Everywhere. Even on planes and in parliament houses. Fortunately it is in default tranq mode.

I was pretty interested in who was this Sherlock guy, hoping he wasn't bad in any way. Just when I was about to go upstairs, a short blonde man hopped down the steps. He mouthed quickly to Mrs Hudson, "Damn, he's shooting up a corpse in his bloody house, Molly really picked the worse time for an off-day. I'm out for groceries."

Just then, he noticed me. "Oh hello, you must be our neighbour, right? Ms…"

"Doctor. Lily Starling. You can call me Lily, I hate the pretentious sound of Doctor."

He laughed really hard. Nervous about meeting someone new?

"I feel the same. I'm Dr John Watson, formerly of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. Call me John. My roommate upstairs who's shooting up a corpse is Mr Sherlock Holmes. He's a detective."

"A consulting detective, John, how many times do I have to remind you?"

A deep male voice rang from the stairs to our left. It came from a tall, curly-haired man. I glanced at him quickly. He was probably in his early thirties, had an authoritative and cold presence. Probably used to being better than others around him. Like me, I realised. And really really striking looks. No, I corrected myself. Just really piercing blue/green/grey eyes. And really really high cheekbones. Like, really sharp. I then chided myself from noticing. As a SHIELD operative, trademark, I should be more impassive. Like Romanoff. My idol.

As all of this flashed through my mind, I could tell a lot flashed through his too. I was an effing SHIELD scientist, there were enough obvious clues for a detective to deduce from. He narrowed his eyes. Distrust of anyone working for a secret service. Even if it were just as a scientist. Granted, the line between SHIELD being a government organisation and a cult was pretty thin and I was sure he had plenty of experience with the latter.

"Hello, I'm Sherlock Holmes, world's only consulting detective." He threw a pointed look at John and shook my hand without looking in my eye. Boy was he scary. He was a six footer, had these really sharp features and his manner of speech was low and polished. He intimidated me in a way even the Hulk couldn't.

"Well, John, I've made my case, time to prove it to our dear friend Lestrade. Good-day, miss-?"

"Starling. Call me Lily."

Sherlock smiled and nodded politely at me before swishing off with John. Okay, maybe not that scary. It's always weird to see a scary person smiling. Anything could be meant, and I wasn't used to that.

I just stood there for two seconds before I retreated into my flat, not sure what to make of my neighbours. Were they a couple? Probably not in the normal sense. They were comfortable with each other, yet so far I haven't seen any physical signs of a less-than-straight sexuality.

Mrs Hudson grinned at me, "Well, he's rarely ever that nice when he's talking to strangers, I hope you won't move out because of him. Would you like some cookies? Just this time, I'm not your housekeeper." I shrugged and thanked her, before retreating into my flat.

Okay, my flat is so bloody cool. A bit of the child in myself geeked out. It had two parts, a living room that doubled as a work room and a separate bedroom. The bedroom was nothing special, but god had SHIELD been imaginative in furnishing my work room.

A special glass panel was between the work room and the living room, such that it only showed a nice aesthetic picture of anything I wished and not what was behind, yet you could see the living room from the work room. Behind the glass panel was a huge circular holographic display that doubled as a table. It could be used to project basically anything anywhere within the work room. SHIELD has left a bunch of instruction booklets, including one that read that I had been promoted to Level 7 with my recent success with the Hulk serum, meaning that I had more access to cool stuff and ranked higher. Great. Or maybe they just wanted me to do more now that I had moved to central London. Still, not bad. Although having them set up my house also almost certainly meant that there were microphones everywhere. Whatever else I wanted to do, couldn't be in my house.

That was about it. Obviously, I was expected to keep a low profile and not do anything dubious inside my house, but that was fine by me. I could always borrow Mrs Hudson's flat, or even John's. They were not allowed to put cameras in non-operatives' houses, fortunately.

Speaking of John, I tried to consciously form an opinion of the two of them. John was really, really friendly, although why wasn't he married and instead living with Sherlock? Maybe. But that was just really really weird, I've never known a gay man.

Anyway, I hope they were good. Not a security risk. What was so special about them anyway? I had lived in countless houses before. Yet no matter how much I tried to keep them out of my mind, I somehow found Sherlock Holmes strangely compelling.


	3. (2) How Do You Feel About The Violin?

So yeah. I went to work every weekday, had video conferences on weekends, typical job. Actually, it was not at all a boring job. It was so cool, since I was part of a team investigating Stark's armour now. Genius he may be, but he didn't do science like the SHIELD scientists. We had a sample Mark I armour, which couldn't fly yet. It was an international team of the best scientists, and we had video conferences/holographic meetings sometimes with Stark included (although he mainly sat and had drinks).

Yeah, I know him. Not extremely personally, since we live continents apart, but Stark was nice enough despite his creepy hitting up on every single girl. That was just him. Anyway, I've learnt to ignore all flirtation and such stuff and basically was desensitised to whatever guys wanted to throw my way.

As for my neighbours, they were fairly unobtrusive. We haven't gotten around to talking much, but occasionally John talk to me while Sherlock saw many odd people (clients) and solved murders (sometimes with John) on a weekly basis. We nod hello when we see each other, but I don't know him very well. That is, until one day.

Apparently, it was a peaceful period with a lack of murders in a fortnight, so Sherlock was exceptionally bored. And it was not fun. He was conducting all sorts of outlandish experiments with severed human parts (as seen by the dubious bags he brings home at dubious times of the day) which were almost as crazy as the kind of stuff we did at SHIELD. There would be odd smoking and crashing and burning sounds and smells, which was slightly disturbing in central London. If he blew something up, it wouldn't end well for me.

Finally, one day, he seemed to have had enough of experiments and began to play the violin.

I play the violin, in fact, and was pretty decent at it. I mean, I do occasionally for theurapatic purposes to relax and take my mind off biology for a good part of an hour. So I was quite surprised when I heard someone as weird as Sherlock play the violin fairly normally.

As a way to find out more about Sherlock, have a chance to talk to him, find out more about his violin and see exactly what dubious experiments he had been up to, I tiptoed up to his flat and knocked.

Sherlock opened the door in 2 seconds flat, before exclaiming, "God, I hope you were a client. Never mind. Anybody is a distraction. Do come in and entertain me."

I thought it was quite disturbing for a guy I barely knew to invite me into his flat and 'entertain' him, but I just shrugged it off an went inside.

"Actually, I was just curious about your violin skills. I play too, not professionally. Actually, I think you know what I do." Why the hell was I rambling? Dude, I had been trained to be cool in front of the Tony Stark himself, but this handsome guy with a violin was making me nervous. Wait, handsome? Dude.

"Oh! Finally, someone who understands music. John is really really stupid, but judging by your profession I don't think you are." Sherlock seemed a little friendlier on the topic of music.

"What exactly do you know about me? With your detective skills, surely."

"Okay, sure. Your dress and clothing says probably not a desk job. Manner of speech and the dubious bulge in your jacket suggests an agent or operative of some sort, yet the physique doesn't say fighter. I took a glimpse in your flat, confirmed SHIELD agent, probably a scientist judging by your speech, which says born and educated in Cambridge. You're not married or attached or even interested, even though you're 30 plus and definitely quite rich, showing that you either have been told not to or don't care. You don't have much of a social life, apart from having video conferences because I can hear from my flat. We have thin walls. You've not made an effort to socialise with John, even if he tries, showing you're busy, probably having friends from your workplace. That's about it, when you don't have a social life and have few wardrobe choices, that's what people can gather."

I was about to say that he didn't have a social life either, but I realised Sherlock wasn't trying to be offensive. He said it all matter-of-factly, no sentiment of judgement. Good. Not one of those nitwits living their lives as normal people. But his deduction skills were pretty good. Nick Fury would have wished to recruit him.

I nodded and smiled, "Very good. Although working in SHIELD, one's accustomed to a lot more, but good."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at me, which showed me he wasn't used to people not being impressed. I could tell from the way he presented himself while he was talking showed a real show-off. Huh.

"I, okay-"

He seemed slightly awkward all of a sudden, but I saved him by quickly changing the topic.

"Were you playing Bach? I hate Bach. It's such a chore to play. Isn't something like Sibelius or Brahms more… fun?"

Sherlock shrugged. "I don't know. I only play rarely and Bach is relaxing in a way. And romantic pieces are too emotional."

"Right."

Okay, so he was the kind to like to show off his intellect and shelve away his emotions, although it was fairly obvious from his reaction to my impassiveness at his deductions that he was indeed a fairly emotional person. Not that scary.

That's when I noticed his violin. The distinctive shape, curve of the f-holes, and the marks. Could it possibly be-

"Is that a Stradivarius?"

Sherlock squinted at me. Wasn't he finally meeting someone who could observe things like he could.

"Yeah. I got it for a small sum, a real steal. Apparently it was stolen, the previous owner was an accomplished performer, definitely has seen a lot of use in the recent years before I got it. See the slight fading of the fingerboard, the many repairs in the recent years and the changing and sanding of the bridge. Shows how much-"

"Okay, yeah, got it." I wasn't around to here his deductions on his violin, because it was a Strad. I was positively itching to try it. My own was a relatively cheap Italian-made.

"May I?"

"Oh yes, sure. Don't make it screech."

Sherlock really seemed geared to dominate over everyone he met to show who was alpha. Intellectually, at least. What an alpha male.

I drew my bow across the strings. Oh God. I couldn't possible begin to describe the feeling of producing such a wonderful sound with such ease. I mean, the strings were old and not the best, but even so, the vibrations came so naturally from the violin and sang so beautifully I was tempted to run away with it. I play a few scales to warm up, then played the opening notes of Paganini's 24th Caprice.

"You can play that?"

When Sherlock said that, I wasn't sure whether it was him or some child version of him. He seemed genuinely interested. Suddenly, I realised I found that so enderaing, I couldn't help smiling.

"Yeah. Kind of."

So this was the real Sherlock. Not the cold, authoritative one I had met the first day. I don't know why, but I seem to be really good at uncovering people's real selves. However, Sherlock seemed to realise he'd slipped up, so he just grinned awkwardly before regaining a bit of his coolness and taking his strad back from me.

There was a few seconds of awkwardness as he realised he'd screwed up and I realised what I could do from this moment on.

Sherlock cleared his throat. I quickly said, "Well! Founded on the common interest in music, let's formerly acquaint ourselves. What exactly is your job, why do you never leave your house and who are all these weird people who come to your flat. Relatives and friends?"

I suppose I wasn't trying to hard to be taunting but when two equally intellectually alpha people meet it's hard not to.

"No, as mentioned before I am a consulting detective, which means when the police are out of their depth, they consult me."

"But the police don't consult amateurs."

Sherlock smiled for no reason. Uh…

"Sorry, it's just that John said the exact same thing when I told him that." All of a sudden Sherlock seemed to relax a bit, whirling around and sitting down in his armchair.

"Okay, I'll just assume you're not then. Are you and John-"

Sherlock looked questioningly up at me, as if daring me to ask more.

"Never mind." I mentally resolved that I would ask John that. Or Mrs Hudson.

"Do you know a certain Mycroft Holmes?" Sherlock suddenly asked.

"Yeah, he's been mentioned." It was true. In SHIELD there were whispers of many names, Mycroft being a seemingly intimidating authority to even Nick Fury.

"Hmm. Interesting." Sherlock grinned to himself. Okay…

There was an awkward silence as I stood awkwardly in front of Sherlock in his chair. This was awkward. Was I supposed to say something.

"Do sit down. Make yourself a cup of tea or whatever people do. You're currently reminding me too much of a client and what else I could be doing."

Sure. Underneath all that icy impassiveness, I thought I saw a relatively normal guy underneath, inviting me to tea. Being me, I immediately resolved to uncover that.

Okay. This was awkward. I finished brewing the tea and sat down in the chair opposite Sherlock just to watch him close his eyes and brood over nothing.

Raising my eyebrows, I quietly sipped my tea while resisting the attempt to clear my throat.

 **-Sherlock's POV-**

Boring.

Boring.

Boring.

I couldn't interest myself in my head in any topics right now. Guns were boring, history of political scandals was boring and trying to figure out what Mycroft did in worktime was boring.

God must this end.

John was out.

I guess it was lucky someone knocked on the door when I was playing the violin. A client, but then no. It was the neighbour. Who lived in 221C. Was her name Lily or Lucy or something? I didn't like new people. Especially not women. I was highkey unsure around them now, especially after The Woman.

She was around half head shorter than me, definitely SHIELD operative. Look at her house. She seemed quite professional and impassive around new people, carrying herself in a way similar to Mycroft. Trademark of SHIELD agents, I suppose. Or secret agents in general.

I invited her in, hoping that she would be about as entertaining as John to watch embarrass herself. I needed to prove I was smarter, she reminded me too much like Mycroft.

She asked something about my violin skills. At least she wasn't dumb. Definitely not of average intelligence. Maybe she would understand me at least a little bit.

We talked for a bit, I wasn't quite paying attention. When I talked to people I used like my subconscious. Saves energy. But when she started playing the 24th Paganini Caprice on my violin, I was impressed. I had secretly been wanting to learn it because it was so difficult, I loved a challenge, but it would have seemed weird in front of John. I didn't want him to judge me. So when she played the opening notes, I couldn't resist expressing my interest.

Not in her, of course not, no, no. Not another woman. Just a John with some violin skills and more intelligence and a very Mycroft work facade.

Well, I decided that another John wouldn't hurt. I may be against new people, but if they prove their usefulness and potential for even a bit of my admiration, I'd talk to them. Ugh, that was hard, but there was no other way.

I invited her for tea after showing off a bit of my deduction skills. Why did she remind me of me trying to impress Mycroft? This was bad. I couldn't let someone else be Mycroft. But I also didn't want to shut her out, because she seemed nicer than Mycroft. So I was cautious. Remember, don't be Sherlock-in-front-of-John, be Sherlock-in-front-of-Mycroft.

I didn't know how to carry a conversation, though. This was awkward. I mean, she might think I'm a freak. Maintain my cool, maintain my cool.

 **-Lily's POV-**

After a few minutes of extremely uncomfortable silence, John saved me.

He came back from the store, carrying shopping bags. Okay, oops. I was most presumably sitting in his chair. Uh-

I quickly got up, but John saw me and said, "Oh, no, it's fine. He can't tell the difference anyway."

I thought that was true, so I smirked at John and sat back down. Sherlock completely didn't greet John, only opening his eyes and going back to brooding.

- **John's POV-**

Ooh, what was Sherlock doing with Lily in his room? I hoped it wasn't a repeat of The Woman. It was awkward to watch Sherlock struggling to cope with emotions. Ha-ha.

But Lily seemed nice enough. I mean, she was cool, a SHIELD agent, like a Mycroft but a nicer Mycroft. Quite pretty, too. A fine brunette, green eyes, a bit like Sarah but with dark hair. And she seemed pretty smart. To have impressed Sherlock somehow enough for him to have invited her in? Not bad.

 **-Lily's POV-**

Okay, shit, now John was staring at us and me weirdly. He probably knew enough of his roommate's quirks to have a few suspicions of what I was doing here.

The awkwardness was broken when John came over to sit in the client's chair. I resisted the temptation to give him back his chair, obviously they were a couple of some sort.

John squinted at Sherlock, wondering why he was so silent. He then looked back at me and licked his lips.

Oh god. John. Your thoughts are practically written all over your face. I've seen Stark do the same thing at every single woman ever, and it was bad. Awkward. I mean, John was great, but not my type.

 **-Sherlock's POV-**

John was definitely ogling Lily now. They small talked a bit, asking about her job and what she was doing in London and blah blah blah. I tuned them out but couldn't help feeling that John was somehow doing the thing again. You know, where he turned up his charm. He did that to me and I was definitely not immune. Maybe that's how he made friends.

Lily seemed to be fine, though. With her intelligence, definitely noticed what John was doing.

"John, please stop talking her up, obviously she's already got someone."

 **-Lily's POV-**

What.

Both John and I abruptly stopped our conversation at the outburst from Sherlock. I squinted at him. He stared straight into my eyes. God, could he stop doing that, it was making me nervous. He looked at me, then looked at John pointedly, and then looked back at me. I looked at John. He was glaring at Sherlock in an almost accusatory way, his mouth half open.

"Well, I gathered the same," I blurted. Damn. I couldn't resist it when Sherlock was guiding me on to do something. Seriously? He thought I had someone. Ha-ha. Maybe that was a prompt for me to declare my loneliness. Stark had already done the same thing to me.

"Except, of course, I'm unattached."

Sherlock smirked at John, who was affronted.

"Look, I wasn't even-"

"It's fine." I smiled kindly at John to let him know that no awkwardness would be between us. He just went a little red and nodded.

Sherlock laughed out loud.

"It's always entertaining to see John put up a display of human emotions," he quipped, winking at me from the corner of his eye.

What the hell.

 **-John's POV-**

Okay, I screwed up.

Seriously, though, Sherlock, enough!

He's always ruining all of my attempts.

Sigh.

 **-Sherlock's POV-**

Hmm, I liked her. She knew exactly how to read people, and wasn't a normal person and was immune to flirting. Wait, why did I care again?

 **-Lily's POV-**

"Oh, now, look at you two, looks like you're a me replacement now." John said half jokingly, in response to Sherlock's wink.

Okay, this was bad. I was staring at Sherlock and he was staring at me and I didn't know why my heart rate was like accelerating. Dude. Dude. This guy was so attractive it was scary.

"No, John, as far as I can tell she's a bit too much like Mycroft." Sherlock said while squinting into my eyes. He really didn't have self consciousness about prolonged eye contact, right. Dude. Stop it. My heart rate was so high now and there was no way I could stop it.

"Who the hell is Mycroft?"

"His brother. He's like, what again?"

"The British government. He works for the MI6, the CIA, the government and who knows who else at the same time. And SHIELD, of course. Basically, he has the most power I've ever come across, on top with the President of the United States and the leaders of global powers," Sherlock said, in a way that made me felt like he was a bit done with Mycroft.

"Ah."

Sibling rivalry. Definitely. Mycroft was probably smarter and richer than Sherlock, but being the alpha male, Sherlock didn't like him because he couldn't dominate intellectually. Interesting.

It must have shown on my face, because Sherlock asked, "What?"

"Nothing."

There was a two second silence, before I quickly said, "Well, I've got things to do, Mr Stark wants the report on the arc reactor by Sunday, so-"

"You know him?" John seemed really impressed.

"Yeah, kind of. Uh, anyway, bye." They both watched as I stepped out of the door. I felt like I had just stepped out of some play. Focus, Lily.


	4. (3) The Hound

Baskerville

So, after that really awkward encounter in 221B Baker Street, things were never quite the same.

Firstly, John and I were on much better terms and any momentary awkwardness due to his trying to hit me up was gone. It was just like Stark- you could still be good friends with someone even after they tried to hit you up. Especially if you were bonded by mutual topics, in the case dissing Sherlock.

Sherlock and I meanwhile were on much friendlier terms. He no longer was the icy person I met on the first day. Sure, he was curt and rude and annoying and childish and cold, but he wasn't mean. He was just like that- IQ of a genius and EQ of a child. Yet I still couldn't shake off my fascination with him- there was something about those cheekbones and the curly hair and his deep voice and his intelligence that made him- dare I say this- incredibly sexy. I didn't know whether it was just an objective judgement, or something more.

Anyway, he once brought me on a case. John refused to come, and I could see why. Apparently, there had been a murder and Sherlock had to prove how the woman couldn't possibly have done it. By harpooning a dead pig.

Yeah. We went to the butcher's, and I had to help Sherlock buy a whole dead pig. It was awkward. Sherlock was just smugly standing behind me and it was all I could do not to walk out on him. We lugged the dead pig (conspicuously, I may add) into a back street and Sherlock stabbed it. I just stood five feet away and watched. I couldn't help but wonder how Sherlock kept in shape. He didn't seem the kind to exercise a lot, but as he rolled up his sleeves I saw ripped arms. As he aggressively stabbed the dead pig, I couldn't help but notice his curls bouncing as he attacked the pork. He really was quite something.

Finally, covered in blood and panting, he was done. He seemed satisfied, walking around the dead pig a bit before motioning to me to go.

"You want me to walk beside you? No bloody way," I rolled my eyes. He was literally covered in blood and smelt really bad and looked like he had committed a murder.

"Why not?"

Sherlock was really clueless. He had the self-awareness of a child.

"Because you look like-"

"Yeah, but it's me who has blood all over, it's got nothing to do with you. Come on." He grabbed my wrist and pulled me along.

"Why did I agree to come along anyway," I muttered under my breath, wrenching my hand away from his bloody grip. Under different circumstances, I would have been thrilled.

"You helped me buy the pig. And in doing so, spared someone. Shut up."

Yep. Sherlock was intolerable.

We tried hailing a cab, but we got ignored. People stared at us. Second hand embarrassment. Sherlock didn't care and just marched forward. Unbelievbly, we went on the Tube. Some people exited the train. I pretended I didn't know Sherlock. He just stood beside me silently while I held my breath as much as possible.

Finally, after an agonising trip, we reached 221B. I felt like I was being made fun of, being forced to walk beside a dishevelled blood covered man. Sigh. As we entered 221B, Sherlock said, "Well, that was tedious."

"You went on the Tube like that?" John looked half-exasperated and half-annoyed.

"None of the cabs would take me."

"You know, I'm never ever going out with him on a case. Never. Sorry, Sherlock," I grumbled as I went to the kitchen to wash my wrist.

Sherlock pouted. I stopped, surprised, and stared at him, daring him to ask.

Anyway, after Sherlock cleaned himself up a bit, he started having a bit of a temper. Apparently harpooning a dead pig wasn't enough for one morning, and he was ratting John out for more cases. There was nothing in the newspapers, no murders or anything. Some poor sod out there gets killed and it's Sherlock's entertainment.

He was pacing around the flag holding his harpoon and slamming it on the ground, declaring his need for something to keep him high. Sherlock has a bad habit of smoking and having nicotine patches on his arm (much much more than the recommended dosage). So John and I stepped in, confiscated all his cigarettes and patches and convined everyone around us not to sell him anything.

He started ruffling around his flat, turning everything upside down. I facepalmed.

"Tell me where they are. Please. Tell me."

John and I looked at each other and shook our heads. Sherlock straightened up and turned on his puppy-dog eyes.

"Please."

Wow. I've never heard him say that before. Though his puppy-dog eyes were really really really irrisistable, but nothing in the world would make me give him back his cigarettes (spoiler: they were hidden in my flat, with an added level of SHIELD retinal scan security).

Sherlock screamed for Mrs Hudson. I threw him a dirty look. He ignored me. There was really no stopping him.

Long story short, he threw a really bad tantrum at Mrs Hudson, deducing dubious things about her and basically driving her up the wall. Any sane person would be, to be honest. John got really mad.

"Go after her and apologise."

"Apologise?" Sherlock was indignant.

"Yeah, dude, not funny. Stop acting like a child and shut this." I was a bit annoyed now. No matter how attractive I found him, this was too much.

Sherlock growled. "You too now."

I folded my arms and stared him down.

"You know, I really am too nice sometimes." John muttered.

"Oh, John, I envy you so much," Sherlock said, ruffling his hair.

John frowned. "You envy me."

"Your mind: it's so placid, straightforward, barely used. Mine's like an engine, racing out of control, a rocket tearing itself to pieces trapped on the launch pad." Sherlock raised his voice. "I NEED A CASE!"

John started shouting too. "You've just solved one! By harpooning a dead pig, apparently!"

Sherlock slumped down in his chair, drumming his fingers and stomping his feet. "That's was this morning, when's the next one?"

I couldn't help but facepalm.

"Nothing on the website?" John attempted.

Sherlock threw his laptop into John's lap, and I leant over to look.

"Dear Mr Sherlock Holmes. I can't find Bluebell anywhere. Please please please can you help?"

"Bluebell?"

"A RABBIT, JOHN!"

"Oh."

"Ah, but there's mroe! Before Bluebell disappeared, it turned luminous- like a fairy! according to little Kirsty. Then the next morning, Bluebell was gone! Hutch still locked, no sign of a forced entry…" Sherlock paused and regained his normal voice. "Ah, what am I saying? This is brilliant! Phone Lestrade. Tell him there's an escaped rabbit."

"Are you serious?" I asked.

"It's this, or Cluedo."

John slammed the laptop shut.

"No, we are never playing that again," he said, exasperated.

"Why not?"

"Because it's not actually possible for the victim to have done it, Sherlock, that's why."

"Well, it was the only possible solution."

"It's not in the rules," I added.

"Then the rules are wrong!" Sherlock shouted. I raised my eyebrows, but just then the doorbell rang. I held up a finger.

"Single ring," John said.

"Maximum pressure just under the half second," Sherlock said in one breath.

"Client."

It turned out to be some rather dishevelled desperate looking young man, who had the eyes and pallor of someone who has been haunted by something a long time. He didn't want to explain his case verbally, so he just took a disc and inserted it into the TV (by the way, I really needed to get them a replacement. The technology in their house, by SHIELD standards, was stone-age). The documentary was fascinating. It was a bit clickbait-title-ish, and probably just stirring up rumours, but it was talking about a place called Baskerville where genetics experiments were being carried out and which was haunted by phantoms of animals gone wrong.

I think Sherlock was in a really really bad mood that day, because he curtly switched off the TV and asked our client to explain things himself. Stuff like, "Skipping to the night that your dad was violently killed. Where did that happen?" He really was really rude. So John and I stepped in.

"Sorry, sir, he's just slightly off his tits today. But whatever happened to your father, it was twenty years ago- a long time. Why come to us now only?" I asked gently, the same way I had been trained to do at SHIELD (I was the one who interviewed Obadiah Stane's relatives after Tony Stark's reveal). Useless, though, because our clients realised Sherlock's lack of interest and dejectedly got up to go away. I glanced at John. He rolled his eyes at Sherlock, behind his back.

"Because of what happened last night."

And there he went again. Show-off, Sherlock, let's all be amazed by your intellect! Oh god, you can deduce stuff, what a genius. I could check people's profile's up using SHIELD's database, same thing.

"Not now, Sherlock." John was evidently used to this.

"Oh please, I've been cooped up in here for ages."

"You're just showing off," I said.

"Of course, I am a show-off. That's what we do."

Sherlock took a quick glance at Henry. "The train napkin that you used to mop up the spilled coffee: the strength of the stain shows that you didn't take milk. There are traces of ketchup on it and round your lips and on your sleeve. Cooked breakfast – or the nearest thing those trains can manage. Probably a sandwich."

Henry choked. "How did you know it was disappointing?"

"Is there any other type of breakfast on a train? The girl – female handwriting's quite distinctive. Wrote her phone number down on the napkin. I can tell from the angle she wrote at that she was sat across from you on the other side of the aisle. Later – after she got off, I imagine – you used the napkin to mop up your spilled coffee, accidentally smudging the numbers. You've been over the last four digits yourself with another pen, so you wanted to keep the number. Just now, though, you used the napkin to blow your nose. Maybe you're not that into her after all. Then there's the nicotine stains on your fingers ... your shaking fingers. I know the signs. No chance to smoke one on the train; no time to roll one before you got a cab here. It's just after nine fifteen. You're desperate. The first train from Exeter to London leaves at five forty-six a.m. You got the first one possible, so something important must have happened last night." Sherlock paused to breathe. "Am. I. Wrong?"

Henry looked a little bit like a goldfish.

"No."

Sherlock smiled. Smug.

"You're right. You're completely, exactly right. Bloody hell, I heard you were quick," Henry said, awestruck.

"It's my job," Sherlock said, leaning forward. "Now shut up and smoke."

John and I frowned towards him. He ignored us.

"Um, Henry, your parents both died and you were, what, seven years old?" John tried.

Henry smoked a bit before answering. As he opening his mouth, Sherlock stood up and stepped towards him.

"I know. That…my…"

Sherlock suddenly leant into the smoke drifting up from Henry's cigerette and from Henry's mouth and breathed it all up noisily.

"Ah." Sherlock closed his eyes and whined in pleasure. I squinted at him.

John completely ignored him, continuing, "That must be a… well, quite a trauma. Have you ever thought that, maybe, you invented this story, this…" Sherlock inhaled more smoke. John closed his eyes and waited.

"…to account for it?"

"That's what Doctor Mortimer says."

"Who?"

"His therapist," Sherlock interjected, desperate for any chance to show off.

"Louise Mortimer. She's the reason i came back to Dartmoor. She thinks I have to face my demons."

"And what heppened when you went back to Dewer's Hollow last night? You went there on the advice of your therapist and now you're consulting a detective. What did you see that changed everything?" Sherlock said, staring intensely at Henry.

"It's a strange place, the Hollow. makes you feel so…cold, inside, so afraid, and-"

"Yes, if I wanted poetry I'd read John's emails to his girlfriends. Much funnier."

I stifled a laugh. John sighed.

"What did you see?"

"Footprints- on the exact spot where I saw my father torn apart."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and leant back, disinterested. John asked, "Man's or a woman's?"

"Neither, they were…"

"Is that it? Nothing else. Footprints. Is that all?"

"Yes, but they were…"

"Nope, sorry. Doctor Mortimer wins. Childhood trauma masked by an invented memory. Boring! Goodbye, Mr Knight, thank you for smoking."

"No, but what about the footprints?" asked Henry, affronted.

"Oh, they're probably paw prints; could be anything, therefore nothing. Off to Devon with you; have a cream tea on me."

John and I exasperatedly looked at Sherlock as he sauntered into the kitchen. Henry turned.

"Mr Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound!"

Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks, before turning around and standing over Henry.

"Say that again."

"I found the footprints, they were…"

"No, no, no, your exact words. Repeat your exact words from a moment ago, exactly as you said them."

"Mr Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic-"

Here he paused.

"Hound."

Somewhere within Sherlock, a spark ignited. "I'll take the case."

"Sorry, what the hell?" I said, standing up straight.

"Thank you for bringing this to my attention, it's very promising." Sherlock quipped as he did the thinking pose and put up a show of pacing across the living room.

"No, what? A minute ago, footprints were boring, now they're very promising?" John asked.

"It's nothing to do with footprints. As ever, John, you weren't listening. Baskerville; ever heard of it?"

"It's very hush hush."

"Sounds like a good place to start. Let's go."

He immediately grabbed his coat and strutted out the door, expecting us to follow. Henry stumbled after him. John said, "Well, Lily, if you wanted to come I'm sure Sherlock would be- I'm sure he wouldn't mind, but if you don't want to put up with him it's fine too."

"Yeah, I'll sit this one out." I wasn't feeling the mood to investigate a phantom hound, so I retreated into my flat as John nodded and went into Sherlock's bedroom to help him pack his things.

I was about to close the door in my flat when Sherlock glided down the steps, calling, "I'm going to call a cab, get your things ready."

"Excuse me, did you just assume I was coming?" I said to Sherlock. He turned around, already in his coat and coat collar turned up and ready.

"Aren't you?"

Sherlock cocked his eyebrows playfully, staring me down as if daring me to refuse. His cold icy blue/green/grey eyes seemed to be boring a hole through me.

"Umm…"

Sherlock smiled and said, "Come on, then."

I was about to say that I had work to do, before realising that Stark had called off our team for the week since he was on a vacation with Pepper.

"Okay." I was actually speechless.

Sherlock whirled around and flagged down a cab. Why did this man make me do things so easily, I grumbled in my head as I instructed the AI system in my house (whom I have nicknamed Tardis, after Doctor Who's time machine and also because it rhymed with Jarvis) to pack me my clothes based on the weather.

Two seconds later, Tardis had finished running calculations based on the weather in Baskerville and our purpose there, before picking out the smartest looking clothes for two days and folding it neatly into the smallest bag possible. Ah, Tardis was my best friend. Robots never judged you. Didn't have piercing eyes or an intimidating swagger…

I sat myself in the front seat while John and Sherlock got the backseats. The journey would be relatively long in an average cab rather than the SHIELD helicarrier or quinjet, so I wouldn't want to have the constant pressure of making conversation. I shouldn't have needed to worry, because all was silent.

The scenery at Baskerville was amazing. First of all, it had the kind of blue skies I only ever saw in America, framing a landscape of undisturbed wilderness that was aesthetic and mysterious at the same time. We got off and went to a patch of grass in the middle of nowhere, as there was a large rock that Sherlock climbed onto to gather his bearings.

"Um, that's Baskerville, that's… Grimpen Village, so that's… yeah it's Dewer's Hollow," John muttered to Sherlock as he consulted a map.

"What's that?"

"Hmm?" John squinted through his binoculars. "Minefield? Technically Baskerville's an army base, so I guess they've always been keen to keep people out."

"Clearly."

We stood there for a while, taking in the views, before Sherlock hopped down from the rock and we drove into Grimpen Village. I never knew Sherlock could drive, though. Thought he'd use a cab or something for convenience.

Grimpen Village was a small thing, just a bunce of houses here and there and the occasional public house. There were, surprisingly, a handful of tourists, whose tour guide was entertaining them with a story, probably of the phantom hound.

We walked into the pub, which apparently had boutique rooms and vegetarian cuisine. Sherlock pulled his coat tighter around himself, before turning his coat collar up. He did that to look cool, probably. John gave him a pointed look and I smirked, averting my eyes.

"What? I'm cold." Sherlock tried, and failed, to look nonchalant. I exchanged a glance with John before we both ignored him.

Soon, John was checking in at the counter, while Sherlock strutted around the pub observing his surroundings. I stood beside John, arms folded and surveying the people. This place looked like a relatively normal village pub. Quaint village out of town. Peaceful. Except for a hound and the military base that happened to be next door.

"Two rooms, eh?" The barman asked.

"Um, actually three's fine, we're not…"

The barman smirked at John. Something told me he assumed Sherlock and John were a couple rather than me and either of them. John sighed and passed up the money. I turned around and saw a piece of paper on the counter, labelled "Undershaw Meat Supplies". Meat? I thought this was a vegetarian restaurant. Quickly and inconspicuously, I ripped it out. John saw what I was doing, read the paper and understood. I gave him a meaningful look. He took the paper and stuffed it in his pocket.

John probed the barman for a bit more information about Baskerville and the hound. "Ever seen it- the hound?"

"Me? Nah. Fletcher has. He runs the walks- the Monster Walks, for tourists, you know. He's seen it."

"That's… handy for trade."

Sherlock had clearly been eavesdropping, for he turned around and follow Flecther out of the pub. I tuned John out as I followed Sherlock, taking care to stay well back.

Sherlock stole a half-drunk pint of beer from a random table and walked over to Fletcher. Probably investigation time.

"Mind if I join you?" Yes, definitely investigation time, Sherlock would never be so outgoing.

"It's not true, is it? You haven't actually seen this… hound thing." Sherlock quipped as he tried his best at a friendly smile. It came out more like a grimace.

"You from the papers?"

"No, nothing like that. Just… curious. Have you seen it?"

"Maybe."

"Got any proof?"

"Why would I tell you if I did? 'Scuse me."

He was about to leave just as John walked over. How friendly and warm, Sherlock.

"Bet's off, John, sorry."

"What?" John asked. What bet?

"Bet?" Fletcher looked interested.

"My plan needs darkness, reckon we've got another half an hour of light…" Sherlock was up to something. I straightened up.

"Wait, wait, what bet?"

"Oh, my friend and I bet John here fifty quid that you couldn't prove you'd seen the hound." Sherlock smiled up at me and motioned for me to sit down. I got the ploy immediately. Playing to Fletcher's interests, I see.

"Yeah, the guys in the pub said you could." John caught on and looked at Fletcher.

"Well, you two are gonna lose your money."

"Yeah, right." I turned on my sarcasm to max.

"Yeah. I've seen it. Only about a month ago, up at the Hollow. It was foggy, mind- couldn't make much out."

"Ah. No witnesses-"

"-might just be your imagination." I finished Sherlock's sentence.

"No, but-"

"Never are." Sherlock cut across him.

"Wait… there." Fletcher showed Sherlock a picture on his iPhone.

The picture was a low resolution shot of an indistinguishable four-legged animal. Might easily be Photoshopped.

"Is that it? That's Photoshop," I scoffed.

"Not exactly proof, is it?"

Fletcher showed it to John.

"Nope, sorry, John, we win."

Sherlock pretended to drink from the beer glass.

"Wait, wait! That's not all. People don't like going up there, you know- the Hollow. Gives them a… bad sort of feeling."

"Ooh! Is it haunted? Is that supposed to convince me?" Sherlock's voice went five octaves higher as he tried his best at friendly sarcasm. I scoffed as John struggled to keep a straight face.

"Nah, don't be stupid, nothing like that, but I reckon there is something out there- something from Baskerville, escaped."

"A clone?" Sherlock sniggered.

"Hulk-dog?" I added.

Sherlock chuckled. John bent his head and tried not to smile.

"Maybe. God knows what they've been spraying on us all these years, or putting in the water…. I wouldn't trust them as far as I could spit."

"Well, is that the best you've got?"

Fletcher hesitated before answering.

"I had a mate once, who worked for the MOD. One weekend we were meant to go fishing but he never showed up- well, not till late. When he did, he was white as a sheet. I can see him now. "I've seen things today, Fletch," he said, "that I never wanna see again. Terrible things." He'd been sent to some secret Army place- Porton Down, maybe; maybe Baskerville, or somewhere else."

"In the labs there- the really secret labs, he said he'd seen… terrible things." Fletcher paused.

"Baskerville is full of wonderful things." I quipped, referencing Howard Carter.

"No, for real. Rats as big as dogs, he said, and dogs… dogs the size of horses."

He pulled out a concrete cast of a dog's paw print- except that it was at least ten centimetres from claws to back. Sherlock was fixated and immediately lost his friendly facade, staring intently at the paw print. John covered for him.

"Er, we did say fifty?"

Fletcher smirked triumphantly as I grabbed a fifty pound note and gave it to John, while Sherlock still stared at the cast.

"Ta."

Sherlock got up and walked away, so I followed him. John followed a bit behind.

After Fletcher was gone, I remarked, "Keep the money, I've got too much."

John passed the fifty pounds back to me. I stuffed it in my wallet. Sherlock watched this exchange, before cutting in, "Next step's to go and investigate the Baskerville labs."

"And how exactly are you planning to worm your way in? SHIELD's technically a worldwide operative, but mainly based in America, so I... may not be allowed in." Anywhere else, my SHIELD pass would have gotten me most places, but maybe not Baskerville.

Sherlock smirked mysteriously at me and John. Okay.

We drove into the complex. It was a huge military-ish base, with signs and all and guard dogs and important-looking officers. I immediately went into SHIELD mode.

"Pass, please." The security guard asked.

Sherlock handed him a pass.

"Thank you." A sniffer dog came and sniffed the jeep. I tensed, because I had a weapon on me that technically was allowed anywhere, but I didn't wish to be detained.

"You've got ID for Baskerville. How?" John said softly.

"It's not specific to this place. It's my brother's. Access all areas. I, um, acquired it ages ago, just in case," Sherlock whispered. The ID reader lit up as the security guard swiped the card, with a small picture of his brother, and the words, "Mycroft Holmes- Unlimited Access- Secure, no threat".

"Brilliant!" John said sarcastically.

"What's wrong?"

"We'll get caught."

"No we won't." I was pretty sure Sherlock's brother wouldn't rat out on him. Sherlock glared at me. Okay, maybe he didn't like his brother.

"Caught in five minutes. "Oh, hi, we just thought we'd come and have a wander round your top secret weapons base." "Really? Great! Come in- kettle's just boiled." That's, if we don't get shot."

"Clear. Thank you very much, sir."

Sherlock looked slightly unused to being shown respect.

"Mycroft's name literally opens doors." I remarked.

"He practically is the British government. Secret agents and their sort of hush-hush- not unlike you, actually." Sherlock said, looking at me out of the corner of his eye.

"Well…" I wasn't sure what to say to that.

As we drove in, I observed the surroundings. Everything was in order, very military and bureaucratic. Not unlike how things went at SHIELD, to be honest. Except here, even the scientists were being escorted by serious looking men with guns.

Suddenly, a young corporal ran towards us. "What is it? Are we in trouble?"

Sherlock maintained a stern face and commanded, "Are we in trouble, sir?"

The corporal withered slightly. "Yes, sir, sorry, sir." Nevertheless, he stepped in front of us and deliberately blocked our way.

"You were expecting us?" Sherlock asked.

"Your ID showed up straight away, Mr Holmes. Corporal Lyons, security. Is there something wrong, sir?"

"Well, I hope not, Corporal, I hope not."

"It's just we don't get inspected here, you see, sir. It just doesn't happen."

"Ever heard of a spot check?" John spoke up, drawing up an ID from his pocket.

"Captain John Watson, Fifth Nortumberland Fusiliers."

The corporal immediately stood at attention and saluted him. John crisply returned the gesture. I decided it was best to shut up.

"Sir. Major Barrymore won't be pleased, sir. He'll want to see you three." I assumed he assumed I was some sort of assistant. Heh. I pulled out a notebook to look the part.

"I'm afraid we won't have time for that. We'll need the full tour right away. Carry on."

The corpoal hesitated, unsure.

"That's an order, Corporal."

"Yes sir."

Sherlock smiled at John proudly. I was half-amused, half in awe. Who knew he used to be a soldier.

As we walked in and passed through the security, Sherlock whispered, "Nice touch."

"Haven't pulled rank in ages."

"Enjoy it?" I asked.

"Oh, yeah."

We went inside a life, which seemed to go right down to a basement level. Interesting. The labs were all white, spotlessly clean and polished. All the scientists were in white lab coats and there were agitated animals in cages. I grimaced. At SHIELD, at least we didn't work on any live animals. It was mainly just arc reactors and particles and biological simulations.

"How many animals do you keep down here?"

"Lots, ma'am."

"Any ever escape?" Sherlock asked.

"They'd have to know how to use that lift, sir. We're not breeding them that clever."

"Unless they have help."

"Ah, and you are?" An old man took off his mask and approached us.

"Sorry, Doctor Frankland. I'm just showing them around."

"New faces, huh? Careful you don't get stuck here, though. I only came to fix a tap."

John forced a polite chuckle as Frankland walked to the life. John turned to the corporal. "How far down does that lift go?"

"Quite a way, sir."

"Mm. And what's down there?"

"Well, we have to keep the bins somewhere, sir. This way, please."

I was slightly tired of the formalities.

Sherlock kept an eye on Frankland as he reached the elevator. Frankland turned around and looked at us interestedly. I averted my gaze and walked on with John, while Sherlock took a small detour and joined us.

"So what exactly is it that you do here?"

Bad question, John.

"I thought you'd know, sir, this being an inspection."

I glanced at Sherlock for help, but he was busy observing his surroundings. Poor animals.

"Well, I'm not an expert, am I?"

"Everything from stem cell research to trying to cure the common cold, sir."

"Mostly weaponry?"

"Or one sort or another, yes, sir."

Sir, sir, sir.

Sherlock and the corporal both swiped their cards.

"Biological, chemical…?" I asked.

"One war ends, another begins, ma'am. New enemies to fight. We have to be prepared." How cryptic.

We passed through to another lab, where a female scientist was doing something to a monkey.

"Doctor Stapleton." The corporal approached her.

"Stapleton…" The name seemed to ring a bell with Sherlock.

"Yes? Who's this?"

"Priority Ultra, ma'am. Orders from on high. An inspection."

"Really?" Stapleton looked dubious.

"We're to be accorded every courtesy, Doctor Stapleton. What's your role at Baskerville?" Sherlock asked curtly. Stapleton snorted with disvelieving laughter.

"Um, accorded every courtesy, isn't that the idea?" John prompted.

"I'm not free to say. Official secrets." Stapleton glanced pointedly at the notebook in my hand.

"Oh, you most certainly are free… and I suggest you remain that way," Sherlock's voice was suddenly cold. I realised why he needed John to help him interview witnesses.

"I have a lot of fingers in a lot of pies. I like to mix things up- genes, mostly; now and again actual fingers."

Genes- animals- wait a moment.

"Bluebell?" I whispered to Sherlock. He nodded and reached into his pocket.

"Stapleton. I knew I knew your name."

"I doubt it."

"People say there's no such thing as coincidence. What dull lives they must lead." Sherlock scribbled a note and held it up to Stapleton's face. Bluebell.

Sherlock watched closely as Stapleton's face changed. "Have you been talking to my daughter?"

"Why did Bluebell have to die, Doctor Stapleton?"

"The rabbit?" John hadn't caught on.

"Disappeared from inside a locked hutch, which was always suggestive."

"The rabbit?" John was incredulous.

"Clearly an inside job." I remarked coldly.

"Oh, you reckon?"

"Why? Because it glowed in the dark," Sherlock said.

"Green fluorescent gene. Probably from jellyfish," I added.

"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about. Who are you?"

Sherlock checked his watch. I did too. Twenty minutes.

"Well, I think we've seen enough for now, Corporal." Sherlock added curtly.

"Thank you." I supplemented.

"That's it?"

"That's it."

Sherlock headed briskly towards the door, while John and I followed half a step behind.

"Just a minute!" Stapleton seemed affronted.

John whispered, "Did we just break into a military base to investigate a rabbit?"

Sherlock swiped his card. Thank God it still worked. We walked as fast as possible through the security doors and headed back for the lift. Sherlock's phone trilled. He switched it on and flashed the message to John and me.

"What are you doing? M." Probably his brother. Sherlock laughed sarcastically.

"Twenty-three minutes. Mycroft's getting slow."

The lift door opened to reveal Frankland. What was he doing waiting in the lift? Trying to look nonchalant, he smiles, "Hello… again."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes in suspicion as we trooped into the lift. One floor up, the doors opened and revealed a bearded, stern-looking officer waiting for them.

"Er, um, Major…" the corporal started.

"This is bloody outrageous. Why wasn't I told?"

"Major Barrymore, is it? Yes, well, good. Very good. We're very impressed, aren't we, Mr Holmes?" John tried to be friendly. I buried my nose in my notebook again, trying to look like an assistant.

"Deeply; hugely." Sherlock's voiced tinged with slight sarcasm as he whipped out his phone, revealing another message from his brother: What's going on Sherlock? M.

Sherlock hurried towards the exit while Barrymore trailed behind him.

"The whole point of Baskerville was to eliminate this kind of bureaucratic nonsense…" Really.

"I'm so sorry, Major." I added.

"Inspections?!"

"New policy. Can't remain unmonitored forever. Goodness knows what you'd get up to."

The corporal shouted, "Sir!"

He slapped an alarm button on the wall. Red lights flashed and alarms blared, while the security door locked itself with a loud click.

"ID unauthorised, sir."

"What?"

"I've just had the call."

"Is that right? Who are you?" Barrymore was angry.

"Look, there's obviously been some kind of mistake…" John began.

Barrymore took Sherlock's card and crossed check the photo. "Clearly not Mycroft Holmes."

"Computer error, Major. It'll all have to go in the report." I began writing in my notebook.

"What the hell's going on?!"

"It's alright, Major, I know these people." Frankland had appeared out of nowhere.

"You do?"

"Yeah. I'm getting a little slow on faces, but Mr Holmes here isn't someone I expected to show up in this place." Oh shit, he recognised Sherlock.

"Ah, well…" Sherlock kept calm.

"Good to see you again, Mycroft."

Sherlock smiled falsely. John tried to mask his surprise while I just politely smiled.

"I had the honour of meeting Mr Holmes and his PA at the WHO conference in… Brussels, was it?"

"Vienna," Sherlock lied.

"Vienna, that's it," Frankland said, turning to Barrymore, "This is Mr Mycroft Holmes, Major. There's obviously been a mistake."

Barrymore looked skeptical, but he nodded to the corporal who switched the alarm off, causing the door to open.

"On your head be it, Doctor Frankland," Barrymore remarked coldly.

"I'll show them out, Corporal."

"Very well, sir."

We quickly trooped out of the labs, John and I on either side of Sherlock and Frankland behind us. John was grimacing as he quickly and nervously exited the compound.

"Thank you." Sherlock nodded politely.

"This is about Henry Knight, isn't it?" How would Frankland know?

"I thought so," Frankland said in response to our silence, "I knew he wanted help but I didn't realise he was going to contact Sherlock Holmes!"

Sherlock grimaced.

"Oh, don't worry. I know who you really are. I'm never off your website. Thought you'd be wearing the hat, though."

"That wasn't my hat."

"I hardly recognise him without the hat!" Frankland muttered to John.

"It. Wasn't. My. Hat." Sherlock said tetchy.

"I love the blog too, Doctor Watson!"

"Oh, cheers!"

"The, er, Pink thing…" I smiled. Surely he meant 'A Study in Pink'.

"Mm-hmm."

"…and the one about the aluminium crutch!"

"Yes."

I wasn't ready to reveal that I had stalked all of his blog posts and Sherlock's website the first day I moved in.

"You know Henry Knight?" Sherlock said, ignoring the exchange about the blog.

"Well, I knew his dad better. He had all sorts of mad theories about this place. Still, he was a good friend." Frankland turned around uneasily, noticing that Barrymore was still observing us.

"Listen, I can't really talk now. Here's my, er, cell number. If I could help with Henry, give me a call." Frankland gave Sherlock a card.

"I never did ask, Doctor Frankland. What exactly is it that you do here?" Sherlock asked.

"Scientist? Janitor? Technician? Genetic mutations like Stapleton?" I prompted.

"Oh, I would love to tell you- but then, of course, I'd have to kill you too!" Frankland laughed cheerfully. Then I realised that he meant "I'd have to kill you two". Either way. Nevertheless, I felt immediately defensive.

"That would be tremendously ambitious of you," Sherlock said coldly, cocking his head. Frankland shurgged, embarrassed.

"Tell me about Doctor Stapleton." I could tell Sherlock had a hunch.

"Never speak ill of a colleague," Frankland said.

"Yet you'd speak well of one, which you're clearly omitting to do," I remarked.

"I do seem to be, don't I?" Frankland shrugged.

"I'll be in touch." Sherlock waved Frankland's card in his face.

"Any time."

John was completely silent until Frankland was out of earshot, before saying, "So?"

"So?"

"What was all that about the rabbit?"

In response, Sherlock smiled mysteriously. He hugged his coat around him and flipped his coat collar up mysteriously. John rolled his eyes, "Oh, please, can we not do this, this time?"

"Do what?"

"You, being all mysterious with your- cheekbones- and turning your coat collar up so you look cool."

Sherlock looked confused.

"To be fair, they are rather intimidating," I added, referring to his bone structure, before blushing. Sherlock looked highly confused as he looked from me to John.

"…I don't do that."

"Yes you do," John and I said together. We got into the car.

"So, the email from Kirsty- the, er, missing luminous rabbit…" John started.

"Kirsty Stapleton, whose mother specialises in genetic manipulation," Sherlock answered.

"She made her daughter's rabbit glow in the dark."

"Fluorescent jellyfish gene removed and inserted into the specimen," I answered.

"You… do that at SHIELD?" John asked.

"No, but we have a permit to if needed," I answered.

"…Hmm." Sherlock wasn't paying attention, "So we know that Doctor Stapleton performs secret genetic experiments on animals. The question is: has she been working on something deadlier than a rabbit?"

"To be fair, that is quite a wide field," John remarked.

"Who knows? It could be the Hulk case all over again. Chances are it's not a supernatural case, because if it is SHIELD will be in uproar," I said. Sherlock nodded thoughtfully.

"What was it, gamma rays?"

"Yep," I answered, startled that Sherlock would know about that, "Yeah, Banner would become big and green and comparatively stupid, maybe someone's trying to do that with animals."

We drove to Henry's house, which turned out to be huge. Like, huge huge. It had 4 stories and was made out of stone with a huge frontyard, as if it were a church or something. I wouldn't even buy such a huge house.

"Hi."

"Hi." John greeted Henry at the door.

"Come in, come in." Sherlock politely wiped his feet on the doormat before stepping in. John was in awe, "Are you, um… rich?"

"Yeah."

"Right." Sherlock threw a dark look at John, as if daring him to criticise their dingy flat at 221B. John averted his gaze.

Henry led us into the kitchen, where we made coffee. Sherlock took two huge lumps of sugar and John politely declined, while I stucl to tea.

"It's- a couple of words. It's what I keep sing. "Liberty"…"

"Liberty." John repeated, taking out his notebook.

"Liberty… and… 'in'. It's just that. Are you finished?" Henry asked, picking up the milk.

"Mm." John looked at Sherlock, and added, "Mean anything to you?"

"Liberty in death- isn't that the expression? The only true freedom." I asked. Sherlock looked at me thoughtfully and drank from his mug.

"What now, then?"

"Sherlock's got a plan," John said confidently, although in fact we didn't.

"Yes." Sherlock nodded.

"Right."

"We take you back out onto the moor…"

"…okay…"

"…and see if anything attacks you."

"What?" John asked, affronted.

"That should bring things to a head."

"At night? You want me to go out there at night?" Henry was understandably terrified.

"Mmm."

"That's you plan?" John snorted with laughter, "Lily, got any ideas?"

"Why would you ask me?" I started.

"Well, you work for SHIELD so you know these sort of things," John said, grasping at straws.

"Well, technically since Henry can't remember anything, unless we were to give him drugs and conduct… experiments on him to trigger that memory, this is the only way," I said.

John looked indignant. I shrugged at him.

"Brilliant!" John said sarcastically.

"Have you got any better ideas?" Sherlock challenged.

"That's not a plan," John quipped, pointing accusingly at Sherlock and me.

"Listen- if there is a monster out there, John, there's only one thing to do: find out where it lives," Sherlock said, picking up his mug and smiling widely at Henry and me.

At dusk, we brought our flashlights and guns (in my case, my weapon) and headed to the moor. Henry led Sherlock while John and I followed closely behind. There were cries of many wild animals, probably wolves and foxes, and the chirping of crickets. It was eerily dark and quiet, with every of our footsteps echoing in the darkness. By the time we entered the forest, it was full dark and the trees' shelter didn't help.

Suddenly, John and I heard rustling to our right and turned around. Sherlock and Henry headed right on and immediately disappeared into the darkness.

"Ugh, stick together and find the noise, I suppose," I whispered to John. He nodded confidently, leading the way cautiously. He was quite on edge, shining his torchlight into every noise he heard. In the darkness, every thing from drips of water to a rotting leaf hinted at a phantom monster. I shook my head as I thought about the Hulk. I was with Sherlock and solving crimes, not at SHIELD. But the memories of that wild day, where we went on the field after Hulk's rampage to collect samples.

The Avengers.

I forced myself not to think about the whispers in the upper levels of SHIELD as I crept behind John. Suddenly, a flash of light shone at us. Another flash. Long, short, short-

"John-"

"The Morse code. Got it," John whipped out his notebook and began to translate it. I didn't know the Morse Code, but I knew what it was. At SHIELD, Morse was way outdated.

"U… M… Q… R… A…" John muttered, before the flashes stopped.

" A?"

"Umqra?" John tried it as a word. We shrugged at each other, unsure what it was. It could easily be code, but it would do better to let Sherlock or even TARDIS decode it.

"Sherlock…" John whispered sharply into the distance. No response.

"Let's just go in their general direction," I whispered, following the path I saw Sherlock and Henry take.

We tentatively turned around and went back the way we came, before turning to go where Sherlock and Henry were moments ago. They were completely out of sight now, and all I could hear was silence. The crickets had abruptly stopped chirping.

"Sherlock?"

"Sherlock?"

John and I whispered his name over and over again as we walked cautiously forward, trying to find him. We thought we heard footsteps, and then-

We were walking towards an eerie metallic thrumming sound. Ping. And then the thrumming again. Heart beating faster, we stepped slowly towards the noise- it was only an oil drum, hit by water in the trees.

"False alarm, go back," I whispered, continuing to follow where I thought Sherlock had gone.

"DID YOU SEE THAT!" John whispered loudly and agitatedly.

"What?" I asked.

"A thing- something ran past me that way. I think it-"

An anguished howl sounded in the distance.

John and I glanced at each other, terrified. Definitely a dog.

"Quickly, find them, they might not be safe. If it's even half the size or likeness of the Hulk-" I didn't want to think about the countless destruction the Hulk had raged already.

We jogged now, hurrying to find Sherlock. Suddenly, we saw a violent swing of a flashlight beam, followed by stumbling footsteps and Henry's voice.

"Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. Did you see it?"

John and I ran towards that voice like stranded people in a desert towards an oasis. Soon, we heard heavy panting. Sherlock.

"Did you hear that?" John said in an abnormally high voice.

"The howling," I added, as Sherlock walked towards us.

Sherlock just stormed straight past us. We turned and followed, with Henry catching up behind us.

"We saw it. We. Saw. It," he panted.

"No, I didn't see anything," Sherlock's deep voice rang across back towards us.

"Wha- What are you talking about?" Henry panted, chasing after him.

"I. Didn't. See. Anything."

Sherlock strode off away.

"Look, Lily, I'll bring Henry back to his flat, and you follow Sherlock and text me where he is, I think something's wrong," John said concernedly. I nodded, though not exactly fond of the prospect of having to confront an agitated Sherlock.

I stalked Sherlock from a safe distance behind. He was walking really fast towards the village, and before long he stepped into the pub. I texted John and got the blueticks.

Sherlock sat himself down in an armchair by the fire. Silently, I sat in the chair opposite. Sherlock glanced at me, mouth moving as if to say something, and then ignored me. That was when I noticed his eyes were rimmed with red. Something was wrong.

I debated whether to talk for a bit, but decided it was best to shut up, so I leant back and waited for John. Sherlock looked almost relieved at my silence.

A while late, John came in cheerfully and sat in the third chair, saying, "Well, he is in a pretty bad way. He's a manic, totally convinced there's a super-dog roaming the moors."

Sherlock glanced nervously at John and looked back. I had only known him for a few weeks, but this was not normal Sherlock.

"And there isn't, though, is there? Cause if people knew how to make a mutant super-dog, we'd know," John continued matter-of-factly.

"Even if it did, there's no reason it should stay in the forest. If it were as bloodthirsty as it seemed, it would be out of the forest by now. Twenty years, right? Unless someone's controlling it, in which case we can investigate the person behind this rather than get ourselves killed by a hulk-dog," I added logically.

Sherlock glanced at me thoughtfully, regaining his composure a little bit, before turning back and breathing heavily.

There was a heavy silence before John said, "Er, listen: on the moor, I saw someone signalling. Er, Morse- I guess it's Morse… doesn't seem to make much sense. U, M, Q, R, A. Does that mean… anything…"

Sherlock was breathing hard now, in through his nose and out of his mouth. John decided that he couldn't be right and abandoned his notebook.

"So, okay, what have we got? We know there's footprints, cause Henry found them, so did the tour guide bloke. We all heard something…" John frowned as Sherlock's breathing started to shake.

"You know, maybe it's just a big wild wolf," I added gently, trying to calm him down.

"Henry's right."

"What?" John and I said simultaneously.

"I saw it too."

"What?" John sat back.

"I saw it too, John," Sherlock's voice was breaking.

"Just a minute. You saw what?" I asked, leaning forward.

Sherlock looked me in the eye, face twisted in… pain? Agony? Shock? Panic?

"A hound, out there in the Hollow. A gigantic. Hound," Sherlock said cuttingly, tears in his eyes. He blinked.

"Uh…" I was definitely taken aback, and looked at John for help.

"Um, look, Sherlock, we have to be rational about this, okay? Now you, of all people, can't just- Let's just stick to what we know, yes? Stick to the facts," John said reassuringly.

Sherlock drew in a breath. "Once you've ruled out the impossible, whatever remains- however improbable- must be true."

"And what does that mean?" John asked.

Sherlock didn't answer him and looked away, reaching for his wine glass. His hands were trembling. He was definitely afraid.

"Look at me. I'm afraid, John. Afraid."

Sherlock put the shaking glass to his mouth and gulped down some of the wine.

"Sherlock?"

"Always been able to keep myself distant," he said, gulping down another mouthful, "divorce myself from… feelings. But look, you see? Body's betraying me. Interesting, yes? Emotions." He slammed the glass down on the table.

"The grit on the lens, the fly in the ointment-"

"Yeah, all right, Spock, just… take it easy," John said softly.

"Spock?" I blurted out loud, "the dude from Star Trek?"

Sherlock glared at me and said cuttingly, "Shut up."

Ouch. I sat back, offended. John gave me a sorry look. I raised my voice, "No it's fine. Yes, totally fine. Because you're not acting like a child right now. Stop overreacting and get a grip. Drop it."

Sherlock glared at me and opened his mouth, clearly ready to retort.

"You're acting stupid right now Sherlock, and I'm starting to think it's not actually acting," I said quickly. Why was he so… Everybody felt fear. I saw the clips of Tony Stark in the cave in Afghanistan. And Sherlock seemed to think it made him better to push emotions away. But emotions gave an instinctual reaction to most things, which could save your life.

So I just got up and left.

A/N

Hi guys, I'm glad that there are at least a few people who know that this fic exists :) i hope this chapter wasn't too dry, because after all it's canon events and you've all seen it on screen before but at the same time i can't make the OC too involved and direct in this yet, that'd be unrealistic and it's her first case. there are some mentions of the MCU, idk whether i'm supposed to put it in the crossover category because this piece mainly follows the OC and i decided to put her in both universes because writing 2 fics would be too much for me. so yeah, if you haven't watched a marvel movie, i recommend you do, the franchise is good and accessible even if you're not into comic books. and infinity war will be lit.

while writing this i referred to the transcript on it's really entertaining if you want to replay the episodes in your head :) so credits to that.


	5. (4) The Dog

After an early night, I got up at around six in the morning. Getting dressed and all, I stared at myself in the mirror. Head up, I had to stay confident. But I still felt oddly deflated. I hated feeling angry or even annoyed for now reason. Because that meant I had to have a reason, and when I didn't, I was being stupid, but I couldn't stop feeling annoyed. So I had to do something to satisfy the feelings in my brain or make it up, and withdrawing myself was not an option.

I trotted out of the inn, smiling at people I saw and nodding good morning.

"John?" I called out to John, who was sitting in the church graveyard near the inn. Not with Sherlock.

"Oh, morning, Lily," John looked up from his notebook.

"Morning, John," I sat down beside him, thinking about how I should approach this conversation. "What happened after last night?"

"Oh that… Sherlock said he didn't have any friends so I ditched him at the pub and went off to find the Morse signal thing. Turns out it was just a couple doing… things in their car. Red herring."

I smiled and let out a small laugh, fearing that I knew exactly what he was talking about.

"Go on."

"Yeah, and I… had dinner with- I mean, interviewed- Henry's therapist, Louise Mortimer, but Frankland came over and talked to me and accidentally revealed that I was on a case so understandably she was kind of pissed about that."

"Oh."

There was a silence for a bit as we watched the sun rise. The image of Sherlock saying 'shut up' kept flashing in front of my face. My annoyance was irrational. Didn't everyone, including me and especially Sherlock, tell people to shut up now and then? I wanted to be treated differently even if I pretended I didn't, but I couldn't let that small… feeling affect my actions. So I should give him the chance but make him apologise.

"Listen, I'm going to go and find Sherlock, so…"

"Why? He pissed you off, you don't go around in hope of a reconciliation," John said.

"No, not that. I'm just starting to dig this case, that's all," I lied.

"Oh, okay."

I got up. Where would Sherlock be? The pub? Not at this hour. In his room? Even if he were, I wouldn't go there. At Henry's house? Seemed likely, but… Even if he visited him somewhere, he'd be tempted to come and find John, so he'd be walking back. So I walked in the direction of Henry's house. Even if I didn't see him, I could talk to Henry.

"Lily?"

Unmistakably Sherlock's voice. He was heading towards the village, but then jogged over the me. I stayed silent.

"Look, about last night… I'm…" Sherlock trailed off.

"What?" I prompted.

"Sorry. I just got, you know, emotional, and that doesn't happen, so I reacted wrongly," Sherlock paused for a moment. "Listen, Lily, I have a theory and I need to test it out on John, so I was wondering whether you could help me-"

"So you just pissed off everybody around you like a stupid little boy, throw off a sorry and expect people to help you, Sherlock?" I said coldly. Something made it a little difficult to spit out those words as coldly as I could. I prompted him with a raise of my eyebrows. I knew that he knew what I wanted him to do, and it would be stupid to keep this going.

Sherlock swallowed and lowered his head, then looked me in the eye. Puppy eyes.

"Sorry."

I sighed and bit my lip, "Okay, clear. What do you want?"

Sherlock smiled. A small smile. Genuinely. His eyes crinkled for a moment, before he dropped the grin and went on to business.

"Okay, basically-"

"You don't have to dumb it down for me, Sherlock, drop the 'basically'," I said as we started strolling towards the church.

"Hmm? Oh," Sherlock shrugged and continued, "Did you notice- when Henry came to my flat, he said 'They were the footprints of a gigantic hound'? And that's really archaic word choice. Looking at him, he isn't the type to use that sort of English. He'd be more likely to say dog, or wolf, or monster. So I suspect he's been told that's what he'd expect. But his memories of it are entirely fake. Probbaly some sort a fear-inducing drug. Because we both know it's not possible for there to be an actual super-dog, unless someone has really reproduced Bruce Banner's formula, which is so improbably it's impossible. Now, I have eaten the exact same things as John and you, so it's not in the food. But just one difference- you didn't drink the coffee at all and John doesn't take sugar in his coffee, whereas I did. And so does Henry. It's the overwhelmingly likely possibility- the murderer has been planting false memories and fears using the drug in the sugar. But I need to test it out on John. So I'm going to give him sugar in his coffee, and plant him alone somewhere in the Baskerville labs so to see his reaction. And we'll watch."

"Well, what about the footprints?" I probed. Just one probable loophole in his theory. Impressive.

"Oh, and John's pretty mad at you for some reason, I wasn't there, so he probably won't accept your coffee," I added.

"There could be a real dog, just not a monster, leaving footprints and howling to keep the legend alive. And everyone else would just see the dog as a monster because they expect to. I'm thinking that the murderer killed Henry's dad to keep him silent about something, something at Baskerville or beyond, and used the drug on Henry. It's quite ingenious, though not for me."

"Okay," I paused, unsure whether I should reaffirm his last sentence. But I decided to keep things neutral, not making any friendly advances. "Good luck with John, he's in the church graveyard. Alive, as in, he's sitting there."

Sherlock smiled another small smile at me before walking off to the churchyard. I followed behind, hoping to see what happened.

The moment John saw Sherlock step through the kissing-gate, his face turned into a mask and he kept his notebook, getting up to walk away.

"Did you, er, get anywhere with that Morse code?" Sherlock asked tentatively.

John looked past him and started walking, saying, "No."

"U, M, Q, R, A, wasn't it?" Sherlock asked.

John ignored him and kept walking.

"Umqra. Um…qra…" Sherlock mouthed, thinking about something.

"Look, forget it. It's… I thought I was on to something. I wasn't."

"Sure?"

"Yeah."

"How about Louise Mortimer? Did you get anywhere with her?"

"No."

"Too bad. Did you get any information?"

From behind the trees, I could see John smile briefly at the joke before dropping the smile and saying, "You being funny now?"

"Thought it might break the ice a bit."

"Funny doesn't suit you. I'd stick to ice."

John kept walking. Sherlock stopped and stared at his back. I stared at his face. Hurt? He actually looked… sad.

"John…" Sherlock tried, voice catching a little.

"It's fine."

"No wait. What happened last night… Something happened to me… something I've not really experienced before…"

"Yes, you said: fear. Sherlock Holmes got scared, you said." John was so done.

Sherlock ran to catch up with John, grabbing his arm and pulling him around to face him.

"No, no. It was more than that, John. It was doubt. I felt doubt. I've always been able to trust my senses, the evidence of my own eyes, until last night."

"You can't actually believe that you saw some kind of monster."

"No, I can't believe that," Sherlock said, grinning bitterly. "But I did see it, so the question is: how? How?"

"Yes. Yeah, right, good. So you've got something to go on, then? Good luck with that." John continued walking.

I saw a conflicted look pass over Sherlock's face, before he started. "Listen, what I said before, John, I meant it."

John stopped and turned around.

"I don't have friends," said Sherlock. He bit his lip and glanced at me, hiding between the trees. I could guess what he was going to say next, so I nodded.

"I've just got one."

John paused and thought about something for a moment, before nodding curtly and glancing back at Sherlock.

"Right." He continued walking.

Sherlock looked down.

Instinctively, I wanted to step out of the trees and comfort him, but Sherlock's face suddenly changed as he looked up, blinking rapidly. Realisation.

"John? John!" Sherlock ran after John. "You are amazing! You are fantastic!"

"Yes, all right! You don't have to overdo it," John said coldly.

"You've never been the most luminous of people, but as a conductor of light you are unbeatable," Sherlock said, walking backwards in front of John. I stifled a laugh.

"Cheers… what?"

Sherlock walked beside him and took out his notebook.

"Some people who aren't geniuses have an amazing ability to stimulate it in others," Sherlock remarked.

"Hang on – you were saying "Sorry" a minute ago. Don't spoil it. Go on: what have I done that's so bloody stimulating?" John said sarcastically.

Sherlock stopped. By that time, we had reached the pub again. He showed his notebook to John, angled so that I could see it too.

HOUND

"Yeah?"

"But what if it's not a word?" Sherlock said, writing in his notebook again. "What if it is individual letters?"

Sherlock held up the notebook again.

H.O.U.N.D.

"You think it's an acronym?" John asked, slightly interested.

"Absolutely no idea, but…"

Sherlock spotted something in the pub and trailed off. Then he stormed into the pub.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

I heard some indistinct raised voices. Should I go in? Nope. I sat this one out, but I did see Lestrade in the pub. He was the Scotland Yard inspector, the only one who seemed to tolerate Sherlock and sometimes came over presenting baffling cases. Why was he here? Someone sent him, or he had an unhealthy obsession with Sherlock and stalked him. I preferred to think the former.

"This is Mycroft, isn't it?" Sherlock shouted again.

Their voices slowly died down as I stood uselessly among the trees near the bar. There was nothing I could do, now, except wait.

John and Lestrade had a short conversation. I caught the word Asperger's. John seemed to think Sherlock was autistic. Was he? I didn't think so. He did have emotions and could evidently interact well with people, just-

My phone buzzed. Text from Sherlock.

Come with me. -SH

At the moment, he stepped out of the bar and looked around for me, before motioning quickly for me to join him. I felt like some sort of dog- hound- being commanded around, but I decided that I often did the same to other people and perhaps should let Sherlock have the upper hand for once.

"I'll have a word with the local Force," I heard Lestrade say.

"Oh, hello, Lily, didn't expect you to be hanging around the boys out here," Lestrade said again as he spotted me.

"Hi. Where are you guys going?"

"We're going back into Baskerville. I've got a theory to test," Sherlock said, making eye contact with me.

"Wait, so it was their dog that people saw out on the moor?" John asked.

"Looks like it."

"But that wasn't what you saw. That wasn't just an ordinary dog."

"No. It was immense, had burning red eyes and it was glowing, John. Its whole body was glowing," Sherlock said, and shuddered. He led the way towards the car park.

"If we're going back, you can't pull off the ID trick again…" John started.

"Might not have to," Sherlock said, pulling out his phone and dialling. "Hello, brother dear. How are you?"

His voices was dripping with sarcasm as he asked his brother for help. John and I shrugged at each other. We drove into Baskerville, and Sherlock handed over his ID. Apparently his brother had got it through to the Baskerville guards, because they let us in.

"I need to see Major Barrymore as soon as we get inside," Sherlock whispered.

"Right," said John.

"Which means you'll have to start the search for the hound. Lily's coming with me to try and convince Barrymore." Sherlock glanced at me.

"Okay."

"In the labs; Stapleton's first. Could be dangerous."

John smiled.

Sherlock and I effortlessly passed through all the levels of security towards Major Barrymore's office, while John headed down into the labs. We knocked and Major Barrymore didn't seem too pleased to see Sherlock.

"Oh, you know I'd love to. i'd love to give you unlimited access to this place. Why not?"

"It's a simple enough request, Major."

"I've never heard of anything so bizarre."

"You're to give me twenty-four hours. It's what I've…"

"… negotiated," I supplied, trying not to seem extra.

"Not a second more. I may have to comply with this order but I don't have to like it," Barrymore said, turning to change the security setting. "I don't know what you expect to find here anyway."

"Perhaps the truth."

Barrymore turned. "About what? Oh, I see. The big coat should have told me."

Barrymore grinned condescendingly. "You're one of the conspiracy lot, aren't you?"

Sherlock looked at me and rolled his eyes. I couldn't help but smile back.

"Well, then, go ahead, seek them out: the monsters, the death rays, the aliens."

"Have you got any of those?" Sherlock said, sarcastically.

Barrymore rolled his eyes.

"Oh, just… wondering."

"A couple. Crash landed here in the sixties. We call them Abbott and Costello," Barrymore said in a mock secretive way, before turning and saying, "Good luck, Mr Holmes."

"Yes!" Sherlock said excitedly as we turned around, heading for the control room. He laughed, "I think I'm supposed to feel bad for what I'm about to do to John, but this is excellent. We're near the end of this case. It's proven to be quite remarkable."

"Yeah, great," I said. "Let me guess- you've already fed him the coffee and you're going to lock him in the labs and scare him a bit so he'll hallucinate the hound."

"Yep," he said, accentuating the 'p'.

We entered the control room. It was huge with switches and labels and dubious control parts all over the room, like a lab but less white. Sherlock immediately jumped to the monitors with the security cameras, saying, "The room's called L3. Lab 3. Can you find the switches for the room?"

"Um… Yeah, right here." I found it on the control board.

"Great. Now let's just wait for him to come back into the main lab. He's gone off to the side room- Doctor Frankland's office."

Sherlock and I watched intently as John crept around the office. It was quite dark and dingy in there, with leaking pipes and badly done wall paint. He probably wasn't a very important worker at Baskerville.

"Okay, Lily, he's coming back out. On my count switch on the arc light, the big switch there, and then switch on all the lights in the room," Sherlock ordered.

"Okay, sure."

"Now!"

I slammed down the biggest button for the big arc light in the room.

"And the rest of it."

I flipped all the switches in the light row.

"Thank you. He's disoriented now."

I turned around to watch as John squinted and crouched down, trying to see the room.

"The alarm, please, Lily."

I found the button and slammed it. John in the screen promptly covered his ears.

"And switch off his card access." Sherlock was enjoying himself.

I found the correct monitor and quickly typed the commands in. John swiped his card. The door didn't open.

"Good, good, closed door experiment, laboratory conditions... excellent," Sherlock chuckled and put his fingertips together.

I think the arc light blinded John, because he was terrified and stumbling around, hand held to his eye. He swiped his card again, twice.

"Lily, turn off all the lights," Sherlock said.

"What? He's terrified!" I exclaimed, fingers poised over the buttons.

"Just do it!"

I switched it all off. On the screen, I saw that the emergency red lights had promptly come on.

"Good. Come here and watch," Sherlock motioned.

The screen now showed infrared sensing instead of a normal camera. I watched as the bright shape of John switched on a flashlight and crept around the room.

One of the animals in the lab rattled, moving the cage slightly. John was overreacting to ever single small sound. A monkey in another cage screamed when John threw back the sheets. In another cage, the bars were bent as if something strong had pushed against it.

"Did you do that?" I asked Sherlock. Why was I whispering?

"No. Stroke of luck, anything he sees now will make him terrified. He's definitely thinking about the hound," Sherlock said in his normal voice. Suddenly, he took out his phone, put it to the microphone that played audio into the room and played something. A growl.

John spinned around, terrified. He tried his ID card again and again, before finally pulling out his mobile and calling. Sherlock's phone rang. He put his hand over it but didn't answer, eyes still fixed intently.

John hung up and made his way cautiously around the room, trying to find the side door. He reacted to something again. Taking out his card, he was about to swipe it when Sherlock played the growl again and he turned sharply around. John shoved the card back into his pocket and clasped his hand over his mouth to control his breathing.

Suddenly, he dashed across the room and pulled open one of the empty cages, scrambling insde and bolting the door shut before throwing the sheet over the cage. He was definitely hallucinating something. The room was absolutely empty apart from the animals in cages and John.

"Dammit, we can't see him now," Sherlock cursed as he whipped out his phone and called John. For my benefit, he put his phone on speaker.

"It's here. It's in here with me," John's panicked whisper sounded, loud and clear over the phone.

"Where are you?" Sherlock asked.

"Get me out, Sherlock. You have got to get me out. The big lab: the first lab that we saw."

John's breathing was definitely abnormal now.

Sherlock motioned for me to stay silent as he said, "John? John?"

"Now, Sherlock. Please," John's voice was trembling. I didn't think it was possible to be this scared just looking at someone being scared. It was a real-life horror movie.

"All right, I'll find you. Keep talking."

"I can't. It'll hear me."

"Keep talking. What are you seeing?"

John peered through the small gap in the sheet, but stayed silent.

"John?"

"Yes, I'm here."

"What can you see?" Sherlock asked insistently.

John's breathing was ragged. "I don't know. I don't know, but I can hear it, though." There was a short pause.

"Did you hear that?" Sherlock hadn't played any growls.

"Stay calm, stay calm. Can you see it?" Sherlock said, as he got up and turned his phone speaker off, heading out of the security room and into the lab.

"Stay here and turn on the lights when John sees me," Sherlock mouthed, before heading out the room. There was a short pause before I saw Sherlock creep in through the side door. My hand was poised over the light switches.

Sherlock crept towards the cage John was in, reaching out to tug the sheet upwards. He pulled the sheet off and I switched off the lights, before seeing Sherlock pull John out of the cage.

I ran out of the control room and came in time to see a hysterical John screaming, "NO IT'S NOT! IT'S NOT OKAY! I SAW IT. I WAS WRONG."

Sherlock's hand was extended, trying to calm John.

"Well, let's not jump to conclusions," I said, stepping nearer to John.

"What?"

"What did you see?" Sherlock asked insistently.

"I told you: I saw the hound," John said, voice shaking.

"Huge, red eyes?"

"Yes."

"Glowing?"

"Yeah."

"No," Sherlock said.

"What?"

"I made up the bit about glowing. You saw what you expected to see because I told you. You have been drugged. We have all been drugged. Well, except for Lily."

"Drugged?"

"Can you walk?" Sherlock asked.

"Of course I can walk."

"Come on then. It's time to lay this ghost." Sherlock headed out of the lab. I followed, trying to calm John down. He was terrified.

"No, it's fine, I'm fine," John mumbled.

Sherlock led the way towards Stapleton's room, where she was doing something to a fluffy white rabbit. She looked up.

"Oh. Back again? What's on your mind this time?"

"Murder, Doctor Stapleton. Refined, cold-blooded murder."

Sherlock switched the lights in the room off. My eyes adjusted to the darkness enough to see the rabbit glowing green. Fluorescent gene.

"Will you tell little Kirsty what happened to Bluebell or shall I?" Sherlock smiled menacingly. Stapleton sighed.

"Okay. What do you want?"

"Can I borrow your microscope?"

Doctor Stapleton looked at Sherlock weirdly for a second, before leading us to the larger lab where she worked in.

Sherlock took off his coat revealing that he was wearing a buttoned shirt that hugged his frame tightly. Why did I notice that? He looked at me looking at him as he folded his sleeves up and walked over to the microscopre, before taking a plastic packet out of his pocket. The sugar.

"Lily?"

"Hmm?" I had not been paying attention, hanging around the lab looking at the science equipment.

Sherlock and I stared at each other for a bit, before he suddenly talked.

"Do you want to help me? With the experiments. I'm thinking- sugar. Um, as in, identifying the potential drug. In the sugar," Sherlock was suddenly slurring his speech slightly, and stumbling over his own words.

"Um. Okay. Sure. I'm technically a biologist and know a bit of physics, but I can- I know enough to, you know… help." His nervousness had rubbed off on me. What was wrong? Nothing was different. Yet why were we both suddenly fumbling over our own words?

John squinted at us for a bit, before resuming his blank gaze. I heard Doctor Stapleton strike up conversation with him as I walked over to Sherlock.

"Try the first sample. I'm going to try to dissolve it in water and later some other solutions," Sherlock started. I looked at the chemical formulae he had already scribbled on his desk and realised I knew absolutely nothing about chemistry.

"Um, on second thoughts, I dropped chemistry after my 'A's so…"

"Just help me. Please. Fill the- thing- test tube with this bottle and another with that bottle while I check the sugar. These two are the most likely to be able to isolate the sugar from whatever else is inside there," Sherlock said as he slid his first slide under the microscopre.

"Okay…" I muttered as I did, while Sherlock stared intently at his microscope before scribbling down something else and adopting his fingertips-together thinking position.

"Add the sugar."

I did.

"Ok. Describe it."

"Well the water is still water and there's the sugar at the bottom-"

"Filter it."

I did so again, and passed him the residue. He thought for a bit more before sliding that under his microscope and comparing it to the previous one.

"Ugh. No. Try the next one."

"Um… it's the same? Only now the water's… cloudier? A bit grey. I'll filter and evaporate it."

I did while he stared down at the previous sample, but the residue after evaporation was a pinch of thing.

Sherlock glanced at it.

"No. Remainders of plant. The crytalline shapes are the same! Gimme the other sample."

This continued for a bit, and down to the last bottle. Sherlock looked at it under his slide.

"IT'S NOT THERE!" Sherlock stood up and shouted loudly, throwing the slide across the room and smashing it against the wall.

"Jesus," John exclaimed.

Sherlock glanced at me before going on.

"Nothing there! Doesn't make any sense."

"What were you expecting to find?" Stapleton asked.

"A drug, of course. There has to be a drug– a hallucinogenic or a deliriant of some kind. There's no trace of anything in the sugar."

"Sugar?"

"The sugar, yes. It's a simple process of elimination. I saw the hound – saw it as my imagination expected me to see it: a genetically engineered monster. But I knew I couldn't believe the evidence of my own eyes, so there were seven possible reasons for it, the most possible being narcotics. Henry Knight – he saw it too but you didn't, John. You didn't see it. Now, we have eaten and drunk exactly the same things since we got to Grimpen apart from one thing: you don't take sugar in your coffee, and Lily doesn't drink coffee."

"I see. So…"

"I took it from Henry's kitchen- his sugar. It's perfectly all right." Sherlock glared down at the sugar on the table and for a second I thought he was going to shout at the sugar, but he controlled himself.

"But maybe it's not a drug," I said.

"No, it HAS to be a drug," Sherlock said, sitting down and burying his head in his hands. I felt a pang. I didn't like to see anyone in despair.

No. No emotions.

"But how did it get into our systems. How?" Sherlock muttered, talking more to himself. He kept his eyes closed but looked up, moving his head.

"… something… ah, something…"

His eyes snapped open.

"Something buried deep."

"What?" I asked.

Sherlock drew in a sharp breath and pointed at Stapleton.

"Get out."

"What?"

"Get out. I need to go to my mind palace."

John rolled his eyes, as if saying 'no, not again'.

"He's not gonna be doing much talking for a while. We may as well go."

"His what?" Stapleton asked confusedly.

"Mind palace. It's a memory technique – a sort of mental map. You plot a map with a location – it doesn't have to be a real place – and then you deposit memories there that ... Theoretically, you can never forget anything; all you have to do is find your way back to it," John quipped. I tuned out their conversation as I wondered whether to stay or not.

"You can stay, just shut up," Sherlock said, closing his eyes.

Okay, I thought.

I watched as he just closed his eyes. His fingers were twitching. God knows what he was thinking.

My mind wandered a bit as I watched Sherlock's side profile. He was really handsome, I couldn't help but notice. Aesthetically pleasing. Attractive. I admitted it consciously. His luscious locks were messy and hanging over his head. His jawline was strong and sharp. His nose was sharp and chiseled. And his face, his cheekbones were the highest I've ever seen. From the side, he looked really polished. And his lips had a prominet cupid's bow, giving this genius child a somewhat gentle appearance. His arms were strong and muscled through his long-sleeved shirt, and he was extremely fit. He was tall, too. Six footer. If he weren't so… autistic, he would be chased after by many girls.

All these I thought objectively. Or so I thought. In the five minutes I sat there, I couldn't help but think… feel a little stir in my heart. But I pushed it away and ignored it. I was only living in 221C for a bit and probably had to move to America after the Avengers Initiative was set up. If it was set up. If. And I wouldn't be seeing him again. So I wouldn't have any friends.

A few seconds after this depressing thought came into my mind, Sherlock's eyes snapped open and he jerked back. He understood now.

"What is it?"

"CIA."

With that cryptic answer, he grabbed his coat and whizzed out of the room. Slightly confused, I thought. CIA? Liberty? In?

Oh.

Liberty, Indiana. There was a facility there.

I hurried after him.

Later, all four of us were in Barrymore's office. I was pretty sure we weren't supposed to be there, and Sherlock asked John to watch the door before leading Stapleton and me to the computer.

"Project HOUND. Must have read about it and stored it away. An experiment in a CIA facility in Liberty, Indiana."

Stapleton typed in her User ID and password into the computer, before a search bar came up. Sherlock dictated, "H, O, U, N, D."

Stapleton hit Enter, but a message popped up.

NO ACCESS. CIA CLASSIFIED. AUTHORISATION CODE: _

Sherlock groaned softly.

"That's as far as my access goes, I'm afraid," Stapleton said.

"Well, there must be an override and password," I added.

"I imagine so, but that'd be Major Barrymore's."

Sherlock spun around and walked into his office, muttering 'password, password, password'.

He switched on the lights in the office and sat in Barrymore's chair, saying, "He sat here when he thought it up." Sherlock spinned in the swivel chair, looking about the room.

"Describe him to me," Sherlock asked Stapleton.

"You've seen him."

"But describe him."

"Er, he's a bloody martinet, a throw-back, the sort of man they'd have sent into Suez.

"Good, excellent. Old-fashioned, traditionalist; not the sort that would use his children's names as a password. He loves his job; proud of it and this is work-relatedm so what's at eye level?" Sherlock asked, gesturing around the room.

"Books. Jane's Defence Weekly- bound copies. Hannibal; Wellington; Rommel; Churchill's "History of the English-Speaking Peoples"- all four volumes. Churchill- well, he's fond of Churchill. Copy of "The Downing Street Years"; one, two, three, four five separate biographies of Thatcher," Sherlock muttered, glancing down at a picture of a man in army uniform with a teenage son. "Mid 1980s at a guess. Father and son: Barrymore senior. Medals: Distinguished Service Order. John?"

"Right. That date? I'd say Falklands veteran," John supplied, abandoning his post at the door.

"Right. So Thatcher's looking a more likely bet than Churchill."

"So that's the password? Thatcher?" I asked,

"No. With a man like Major Barrymore, only first name terms would do," Sherlock said, leaning down to the keyboard. He started to type 'MARGARET', but apparently he couldn't get past the 7th letter. He narrowed his eyes and tentatively typed 'MAGGIE'. Enter. The computer beeps and says: Override 300/421 Accepted. Loading…

How the hell did someone guess someone's password? I suddenly felt a twinge of doubt at the security of my own passwords. Sure, it was pretty much unguessable because it pertained to a childhood obsession which no one now knew about, but…

John comes back from the door and joined us. All four of us were hunched over the screen as all the information relating to Project HOUND began flashing across the screen. I felt my jaw opening. Phrases like 'extreme suggestibility, conditioned terror, aerosol dispersal' stuck. A picture of the project team with the caption of the names of the project leaders: Hansen, O'Mara, Uslowski, Nader and Dyson. H. O. U. N. D.

"Hound," Stapleton mouthed in horror. Sherlock continued scrolling. Paranoia. Severe frontal lobe damage. Multiple homicide. There were graphic pictures of the test subjects screaming, faces twisted grotesquely.

"This is worse than anything I've seen at SHIELD."

"Jesus," John said.

"Project HOUND: a new deliriant drug which rendered its users incredibly suggestible. They wanted to use it as an anti-personnel weapon to totally disorientate the enemy using fear and stimulus; but they shut it down and hid it away in 1986."

"Because of what it did to the subjects they tested it on," I said.

"And what they did to others. Prolonged exposure drove them insane- made them almost uncontrollably aggressive."

"So… someone's been doing it again- carrying on the experiments?" John asked.

"Attempting to refine it, perhaps, for the last twenty years."

"Who?" Stapleton asked.

"These names mean anything to you?" John asked, gesturing to the screen.

"No, not a thing."

Sherlock sighed. "FIve principal scientists, twenty years ago."

Sherlock zoomed in on the photo. There were about fifteen scientists total, with the five leaders in prime positions and everyone huddled around. They were wearing matching T-shirts with a wolf's head on it and the letters 'HOUND'.

"Maybe our friend's somewhere in the back of the picture- someone who was old enough to be there at the time of the experiments in 1986…"

One by one, Sherlock scanned their faces for any hints of familiarity. Finally, he found his target and rolled his eyes.

"Maybe somebody who says 'cell phone' because of time spent in America. You remember?" Sherlock turned to look at John and me.

Doctor Frankland? "Here's my, er, cell number," he had said. But it wasn't possible. He seemed so kindly, and yet first impressions were misleading… I shouldn't let them affect me. No.

"He gave us his number in case we needed him," Sherlock continued.

Stapleton's mouth was agape, and she whispered, "Oh my God. Bob Frankland. But Bob doesn't even work on… I mean, he's a virologist. This was chemical warfare."

"It's where he started, though… and he's never lost the certainty, the obsession that that drug really could work. Nice of him to give us his number. Let's arrange a little… meeting," Sherlock said cryptically, pulling out Frankland's card and grinning to himself.

John leant forward to take a closer look at the photograph. Suddenly, his phone buzzed. Unknown caller.

"Hello?" John asked puzzledly.

"Who's this?"

Pause. John suddenly looked horrified.

"It's Louise Mortimer. Louise, what's wrong?"

There was a long pause.

"What? Where- where are you?"

Pause.

"Right: stay there. We'll get someone to you, okay?" John hung up and began to text 'someone'.

"Henry?" Sherlock asked.

"He's attacked her."

"Gone?"

"Mm."

Sherlock whipped out his phone and dialled. "There's only one place he'll go to: back to where it all started. Lestrade. Get to the Hollow… Dewer's Hollow, now. And bring a gun."

"John, Lily, now. Stapleton, stay here," Sherlock commanded, whipping out his phone and texting someone as we headed towards the moor. Probably Frankland.

Him, a murderer? He was a kindly old man. Granted, he did threaten to kill Sherlock, but it was in a playful way. And then suddenly I was terrified. A kindly old man being a murderer, anyone could be… just like how Bruce Banner, small and unassuming...

We raced at top speed towards the moor. It was even darker this time than last time, which I hadn't thought possible, but we were ready. There was no hound. Probably no hound. It was just an ordinary dog…

When we finally stumbled into the fog that covered most of the hollow, we saw a crouched silhouette. It was humanoid- and it was eating something.

No.

It was holding a gun to its mouth.

Henry was holding a gun to his mouth. He was about to kill himself.

"NO, Henry, no! No!" Sherlock shouted.

All three of us shone our torches at him, which may have not been the wisest thing to do, because Henry stumbled backwards, screamed and waved the pistol in our direction. If he accidentally pressed that trigger-

"GET BACK! GET AWAY FROM ME!"

"Easy, Henry. Easy. Just relax," John said reassuringly. I decided it was not the best time to apply any calming routine because Henry was way more terrified than I thought possible.

"I know what I am. I KNOW WHAT I TRIED TO DO!" Henry screamed.

"Just put the gun down. It's okay," John continued.

Henry's voice was hoarse, "No, no, I KNOW WHAT I AM!"

A sudden emotion flooded through me. Empathy? Empathy. Henry had been experiencing hallucinations, nightmares from the drug and the phantom hound for twenty years now, and he had nearly killed his therapist. Anyone would be scarred.

"Yes, I'm sure you do, Henry. It's all been explained to you, hasn't it- explained very carefully," Sherlock said, his tone warmer and voice lower that it almost sounded like a reassuring growl.

"Wha-?"

"Someone needed to keep you quiet; needed to keep you as a child to reassert the dream that you'd both clung on to, because you had started to remember," Sherlock continued. "Remember now, Henry. You've got to rememeber what happened here when you were a little boy."

Henry's gun hand faltered, but he immediately raised it again, face twisted in confusion.

"I thought it had got my dad- the hound. I thought…"

He started screaming.

"OH JE- OH JESUS, I DON'T-I DON'T KNOW ANY MORE!"

He put the gun into his mouth again.

"NO Henry! Henry, for God's sake!" John shouted, lurching forward in attempt to stop him.

"Henry, remember. "Liberty In". Two words; two words a frightened little boy saw here twenty years ago. You started to piece things together, rememebr what really happened here that night."

"It wasn't an animal, was it, Henry?" I said, trying to be as reassuring as I could.

Henry stood up straight, blinking.

"Not a monster," Sherlock continued. "A man."

Henry's eyes widened.

"You couldn't cope. You were just a child, so you rationalised it into something very different. But then you started to remember, so you had to be stopped; driven out of your mind so that no-one would believe a word that you said."

John and I stepped forward gently, trying to calm Henry down. Just then, Lestrade's voice rang to us.

"Sherlock!"

"It's okay, mate," John said gently. I carefully took the gun from Henry.

"But we saw it: the hound, last night. We s- we, we, we, did, we saw…" Henry said disbelievingly to Sherlock.

"Yeah, but there was a dog, Henry, leaving footprints, scaring witnesses, but it was nothing more than an ordinary dog. We both saw it- saw it as our drugged minds wanted us to see it. Fear and stimulus; that's how it works," Sherlock said.

Henry's face was full of pain and Sherlock gave him a sympathetic look. They had both thought they say it.

"But there never was any monster."

Just then, a loud echoing howl sounded from the woods above us. Everyone turned instataneously. I felt my breathing become ragged even as I tried to control it. There was no dog, there was no monster, it was just an ordinary dog, like any other dog-

"Sherlock…" John asked, terrified. Sherlock stared upwards in disbelief. We were like five ants in a bowl, just waiting to be attacked by the hound above us.

"No. NO NO NO NO NO!" Henry panicked. He was screaming and backing away, the epitome of terror. A lost case. Sherlock was still trying to calm him down by calling his name, while looking for the creature.

"He's gone, leave him! Where the hell is the hound? Are you sure?" I whispered to Sherlock. He turned a white, sweaty face to me as I watched him struggle with his own emotions. Maybe everything was a red herring. Maybe it was a Hulk-dog after all. After all, there was nothing in the sugar, and John may have just been paranoid in the lab.

"Sherlock…" John whispered again.

And then we saw it.

It was a huge hunk of black fur, glowing red eyes, teeth longer and sharper than ever possible on a dog. The fur on its back was standing up, ready to attack. It looked so real, yet-

John shone the torch at me.

"Lily, are you seeing this?"

I nodded, swallowing. The hound looked so real, and yet there was something blurry about the way it was superimposed on the background of the moor. It was like a nightmare, where I wasn't sure it was real or not but every ounce of me was screaming to run but my mind insisted that I snap myself out of it- wake up- there was no hound-

"Right. She is not drugged, Sherlock, so what's that? What is it?" John asked.

SHerlock screwed his eyes shut, unable to cope with all the fear and data.

"All right! It's still here… but it's just a dog. Henry! It's nothing more than an ordinary dog!" Sherlock was panting, his chest rising up and dog and his face shining with sweat.

The hound raised it head and howled. A wolf-like creature. I was temporarily blinded as my mind tried desperately to tune out everything else, to focus on the important bits, just like in every experiment, all the theoretical problems I've done.

John's panting, Lestrade's repeated 'Oh my God's, Sherlock's wheezing, Henry's screaming, the torchlights shining everywhere, the fog, the trees, the darkness-

The hound leapt towards us. I squinted. Something about the way I saw it move- it was just like the Hulk a few years back- the positioning of the limbs, even the growl-

It was definitely fake. I was imagine it. Because I thought of it as a Hulk-dog, I imagined it as a dog version of the Hulk. It couldn't possibly be real.

"It's the fog! The drug: it's in the fog! Aerosol dispersal- that's what it said in those records. Project HOUND- it's the fog! A chemical minefield!" Sherlock shouted. There was a silhouette near him. Tall, portly- Frankland.

I knew instantly what to do. But if it was real, if everything was just a red herring, I could potentially kill myself.

I walked towards the hound- the dog. It was an ordinary dog. At worst, it could bite me. And yet it was so completely terrifying, its teeth longer than any I had ever seen, and the muscle and flesh and bone underneath the dark black fur-

I reached out to touch it. My hand didn't meet fur. It was air.

The dog was definitely much smaller than the hound. And this was bad. Like Katniss Everdeen in the Hunger Games, when she got stung by tracker jackers. Hallucinations mixed in with senses.

I squeezed my eyes shut as I pounced on the dog, ignoring whatever my eyes told me. I felt it. An ordinary dog, just an ordinary dog. Immediately, I found its neck and butt, grabbed them both and pushed my entire body weight on the dog. I felt a sharp pain in my right arm, near my shoulder. It had bit me. But that was good. I envisioned exactly where its head was, its tail, it's four legs- and went for the scruff.

Within seconds, I had knelt on the dog. My left hand was pinned to it's scruff, holding it and shaking it while I sat on the dog. Finally, it stopped struggling, and just lay there, submissive.

Then I became aware of a sharp, blinding, deep pain in my right shoulder. I cried out and immediately dropped to the ground, releasing the dog, who promptly ran away in terror.

No more hallucinations- good. No more dog- good. Bite on my shoulder- bad.

"LILY, ARE YOU OKAY?" Sherlock half shouted, half screamed. From his perspective, I realised that I looked like I had just attacked and been bitten by a huge hound.

"I'm fine! I'm fine! It's just- a bite wound from a normal dog. It's fine. Get- get Frankland!" I shouted, trying my best to ignore the pain in my arm. My right hand was completely limp. I felt warm blood gushing down it. It stung in the cold wind.

I saw Sherlock's concerned face as he ripped my jacket off roughly and rolled up my sleeve.

"Ouch! Don't do that!" I grabbed his arm to get him to stop. Sherlock took out his scarf and wrapped it around my arm.

Meanwhile, Henry was screaming at Frankland.

"You bastard! TWENTY YEARS! Twenty years of my life making no sense! This means- my dad was right- He found something out, didn't he, and that's why you killed him- because he was right, and he'd found you right in the middle of an experiment," Henry panted, screaming and wheezing. He was out of his mind.

"Henry- calm down!" John and Lestrade had to physically restrain him from beating either himself or Frankland up.

Frankland took advantage of the situation. He took to his heels and ran, stumbling over the roots and the foiled murder plan and being found out.

"Sherlock- get him! I'll follow, I'm fine, it's just my arm- get him!" I shouted. Sherlock was still wrapping his scarf tightly around my shoulder, trying to curb the blood loss. I was losing some of the feeling in my hand, though I wasn't sure if that was because of his scarf or the blood loss was worse than I thought. I didn't dare look.

"Frankland!" John and Lestrade shouted and ran after him.

"I'm okay, Sherlock, go."

He didn't need telling twice. He took to his heels too, and all four of them chased after Frankland. I swear, I had never seen a man run as single-mindedly and as quickly as Sherlock Holmes.

I just laid my head back on the ground, panting and trying to ignore the extreme pain.

Panting.

I needed to get out of this fog, or I could go crazy.

"No pain- no pain, just ignore it," I squeezed my eyes shut and told myself, as I staggered to my feet. Why was the world turning? Why was everything so blurry? And orange?

"Not- blurry, not orange. I'm perfectly fine," I whispered to myself and forced myself to ignore all the evidence of my senses. Finally, I half-staggered, half crawled to the top of the moor and breathed in fresh air.

Suddenly, from a little to my left, there was a loud explosion. I stiffened- all my instincts screamed for me to duck, but I knew that if I did I wouldn't be able to get back up. And it was too far away. Explosion? Gunshot?

Sherlock.

All other things faded from my mind. Any of them could have been hurt or even killed in that blast. Frankland could have had a hidden bomb or gun or something. I needed to make sure.

Suddenly not feeling any pain in my arm, I raced to the source of the noise. Four shadows were crouched near the floor. Messy hair: definitely Sherlock.

"Guys?" I shouted weakly.

They turned around. Sherlock, John, Lestrade and Henry. Alive. I focused on what was behind them. The minefield outside Baskerville. Except, a huge plume of smoke and a few rings of fire.

"Oh God."

And that was the last thing I remembered.

Groggily, I lifted my head. Everything was white. White? I was lying on something soft. It felt like the hound- dog's fur. My heart skipped a beat. Then I realised it was a bed.

My eyes gradually came into focus. There was a huge heavy bandage on my shoulder and my arm was cramped and relaxed in a sling.

Oh.

I suddenly remembered what had happened last night and immediately was disoriented. The shouting, the dog, Henry, the hound, scruffing it, the bite-

"Lily- you okay?" John's voice.

I blinked and sat bold upright, and immediately felt slightly queasy.

"Woah, easy. Good news- the bite is harmless, no rabies. Sherlock's off getting breakfast- he's gonna bring it here," John said reassuringly.

"Sherlock's bringing people breakfasts now?" I heard myself say as I jumped out of bed, before having to fight away another bout of queasiness.

"Woah, no, no, you're still recovering," John said, attempting to push me back.

"No, it's fine, I'm fine. Tell the nurse that. Thanks," I stumbled out of the clinic. We were still at Baskerville, and I had to blink to orient myself. I immediately spotted Sherlock at one of the outdoor tables. His eyes lit up when he saw me and he walked over.

"Are you okay?"

I squinted up at him, feeling less disoriented when I locked my view. His icy blue eyes were like a horizon to an aircraft pilot. I realised I wasn't standing upright and had almost collapsed into his arms, so I blinked and gathered myself.

"Yes, I'm fine. It's not as bad as the time when I had to investigate the a real monster," I remarked, shuddering in the memory. Big. Green. Smash. All for a little sample of DNA for us to study.

Sherlock helped me walk over to a seat, before I sat down on it. Better. I blinked a couple of times to clear out any blurriness. Nice sunny day. Breakfast at a vegetarian restaurant. People. Life. Not dead. Bite was okay.

Sherlock was still looking concernedly at me. Now that the worries about my bite wound were over, I suddenly felt like a deer caught in the headlights as he turned his icy blue stare at me. Only now it wasn't that icy.

"Don't examine me like that, I'm fine," I said again. Sherlock smiled at his own plate.

"Well, that was rather scary, to see you leap onto the hound like that," Sherlock paused as if he wanted to say something.

"How did you make it submit?"

"That? Oh, I had a dog when I was a kid. When you scruff a dog it's easier to make it submit, and when I was on top of it I guess it got scared and ran away," I said.

Sherlock nodded.

"Sorry you got caught up in all that. You don't have to come along to the case next time. And technically we could have just shot the dog," Sherlock remarked, biting his lip. He did look a bit sorry.

"Nope. The dog did nothing wrong, it's not his fault. He's quite a fierce lad, but I don't kill animals," I said. Which was true. I may be cold towards most humans, but I had a soft spot for dogs.

Sherlock smiled again. Just then, John came over carrying three mugs in a rather precarious balancing act. I quickly took mine before he dropped it.

"So they didn't have it put down, then- the dog," Sherlock asked.

John tucked into his breakfast while Sherlock sipped his coffee.

"Obviously. Suppose they just couldn't bring themselves to do it," John said.

"I see."

"No you don't," I said, sipping my tea.

"No I don't. Sentiment?" Sherlock asked.

"Sentiment!" John replied.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Oh."

"But to be fair, if you had a pet dog you wouldn't put it down easily," I said in defence. Sherlock just shrugged.

"Listen, what happened to me in the lab?" John said after a brief pause.

Sherlock looked at John for a moment, before reaching absent-mindedly for a box of sauce sachets.

"Do you want some sauce with that?"

I smiled to myself. Sherlock didn't want to admit that he was wrong. It wasn't in the sugar.

"I mean, I hadn't been to the Hollow, so how come I heard those things in there? Fear and stimulus, you said."

"You must have been dosed with it elsewhere, when you went to the lab, maybe. You saw those pipes- pretty ancient, leaky as a sieve, and they were carrying the gas, so… " Sherlock paused. "Ketchup, was it, or brown-"

"Hang on. You thought it was in the sugar," John said.

Sherlock tried to look nonchalant.

"You were convinced it was in the sugar."

Sherlock looked away and said, "Better get going, actually. There's a train that leaves in half an hour, so if you want…"

John suddenly realised everything.

"Oh God, it was you. You locked me in that bloody lab."

"I had to. It was an experiment," Sherlock said guiltily.

"An experiment?!" John half-shouted.

"Shh."

"I was terrified, Sherlock. I was scared to death," John said, and paused.

"Were you in it too?" John asked accusingly. I swallowed and cleared my throat.

"I had absolutely no idea," I said sarcastically.

"Oh, great," John laughed in an angry kind of way.

"I thought that the drug was in the sugar, so I put the sugar in your coffee, then I arranged everything. It was all totally scientific, laboratory conditions- well, literally. Well, I knew what effect it had had on a superior mind, so I needed to try it on an average one," Sherlock said, smiling at me. I chuckled back.

John looked up accusingly.

"You know what I mean."

He looked back down.

"But it wasn't in the sugar," John said.

"No, well, I wasn't to know you'd already been exposed to the gas," Sherlock tried to worm his way out of admitting defeat.

"So you got it wrong," John said, smiling.

"No," Sherlock insisted.

"You were wrong. It wasn't in the sugar. You got itwrong," John said.

"To be fair, Sherlock, objectively, you did," I added.

Sherlock looked between me and John and said, "A bit. It won't happen again."

John sighed.

"Any long term effects?" I asked.

"None at all. You'll be fine once you've excreted it. We all will."

"Think I might have taken care of that already," John said. Sherlock smiled, and caught the bartender's eye. It was their dog who had bitten me. Sherlock looked at my bite wound and looked at the bartender again, somewhat accusingly.

"Oh, Sherlock, don't go on the warpath. It's not their fault," I said.

Sherlock relaxed.

So the three of us just sat in the morning sun, eating a (rather bland) vegetarian breakfast. My bite wound was still numb, but I was content. Chilling in the sun after a night's adventure with my two new friends, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.

A/N

Hi guys, I hope that was an okay twist to the BBC version- but please don't do that to any dog you see, it's quite scarring for the dog and you'll probably get bitten. I hope that the development of her relationship with the two leads is reasonable, considering that she did jump on a dog after all. I also hope she isn't too much of a flat character... I might considering adding a summary chapter at the beginning too.

Also, sorry if you're sick of canon events. THoB was definitely below average for an episode if you compared it to other episodes in Sherlock, but while writing this chapter I think it definitely gets less appreciation than it deserves, especially seeing Sherlock being scared in the pub.

The next chapter will be a short one, and after that the events of The Reichenbach Fall will pick up and it'll get more interesting because... well, it's The Reichenbach Fall.

You know what, I think I will write a summary chapter at the beginning because this website is mostly for casual fanfic readers and it'd be kinder to them to have a chapter summary so they can skim through stuff that they don't know or don't want to read.

I also hope you guys have watched/know a little bit about Marvel. Hopefully. It's really good and I repeat my point that the films are accessible and fun to watch.

The next chapter will probably be up when you're reading this because it's very short and nothing much happens except some fun with Sherlock.


	6. (5) Chess

"Shut up," I said, for about the fifth time in that hour.

I was spending the day in 221B, because I felt like I wouldn't get much work down and might as well have some down time without the risk of SHIELD's cameras or Tardis recording everything I did. So I was using John's laptop and half browsing the web for rumours on SHIELD and half looking at John's blog and Sherlock's website and trying to find their Twitter or Facebook or Instagram accounts.

Sherlock ignored me completely. John was out, either with another one of his girlfriends or for groceries, and Sherlock was seated in his leather black chair muttering to himself.

"Where's John?" I asked, not looking up from the screen.

No reply, just a continuous muttered monologue. I looked up and tossed a pillow in his direction. He caught it smoothly and said, "With one of his girlfriends."

"Mm, she's not the one," I said.

Sherlock squinted at me. "And how did you deduce that?"

I chuckled.

"Thanks for giving me his password, I dragged up his cleared search history," I said. Which was true. I didn't feel the best about the honesty of that act, but it was rather interesting, to say the least.

"Hmm," Sherlock muttered, ignoring me again. When he was without a case or anything that interested him, he was the crankiest man I had ever known.

I paused for a while, before clearing my search history twice and logging off, turning to Sherlock. Just then, I heard footsteps below and glanced out of the window. Someone was coming in.

"Er, Sherlock, you've got a cli-"

"No, he's not. Lock the door," Sherlock said curtly.

I rolled my eyes and said, "Do it yourself or not at all."

Sherlock sighed in resignation as he sunk back in his chair. The man came in.

He was tall, in a dark grey/black suit, carrying/swinging an umbrella in his hand. The weather report said it would be cloudy but no rain or shine (as it always is), so… man of habit? Or wait. I glanced at his suit again. Government official- possible secret agent, like MI6. So the umbrella could contain a weapon, or was one of those incognito spy devices with recorders and cameras and secret messages.

It must be his brother.

"Hi. You must be Mycroft," I said, getting up.

Mycroft glanced me up and down. I suddenly got the same kind of feeling as I did when I first met Sherlock's icy blue stare- being deduced.

"Why, hello, Lily Starling," he said.

"Um, how do you know my name?"

Mycroft smiled smugly. "I have… people who update me on my little brother." That thought made me slightly uncomfortable. Their relationship was definitely frosty- why wouldn't Mycroft just see Sherlock himself and go to the trouble of conducting surveillance on him?

Well, he was now, so something must be up.

"SHIELD scientist, is it?" Mycroft said, walking over to Sherlock. Sherlock was blatantly ignoring him.

"Uh, yeah, yeah. Though I don't really work in the field, you know… nothing much has come up just yet, although something will very soon," I said cryptically. The Avengers Initiative. My security clearance could access that. And I had a feeling that my life would be very different from then on.

"Ah," Mycroft turned around and looked me in the eye. I raised my eyebrow at him, and he smiled. He knew. He was definitely at least level 7, probably 8 or even 9.

"Mycroft, why are you here?" Sherlock asked flatly.

"You know why, brother dear," he said, pulling out a piece of paper and throwing it into Sherlock's lap. He glanced at it.

"Ah, Simmons."

"Sorry, what?" I asked.

"My little brother has a drug habit, and this is a receipt for a few pounds of cocaine solution he recently purchased from one of the local drug dealers," Mycroft said, smiling at me to see my reaction.

Drugs? Cocaine? A few pounds?

"Seriously?"

"Seriously," Mycroft answered.

"You, a junkie?" I laughed disbelievingly. Sherlock Holmes was a rational man. Surely he knew the adverse effects of drugs and would be able to resist purely physical pleasures. I mean, I knew about his cigarettes and nicotine, but...

Sherlock didn't look me in the eye. He closed his eyes and adopted his thinking position.

"I used half of it for an experiment," he admitted.

Mycroft laughed in derision.

"And the other half? You injected it, didn't you? It's obvious," Mycroft deduced. He had the deduction thing too, then.

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Controlled usage is not fatal and abstinence is not immortality."

"Seriously? This- this could kill you. And I'm sure you don't need a scientific explanation," I said, glancing at the receipt. It was a scraggy piece of paper. Illegal.

Sherlock looked me straight in the eye.

"And why would you care?"

I paused. What the hell did he expect me to say? Of course no one wanted anyone else to die. I may not go out of my way to prevent death for even friends or strangers, but this was-

"You're a logical guy, surely you know what it does to you," I said. "And I work for SHIELD. We protect people. My field? Human and alien biology and a little bit of physics. We research to save people from alien and harmful stuff, but we can't help if you choose to kill yourself, which is what you're doing."

Sherlock just shrugged and ignored me again.

Mycroft sighed.

"She actually is right. Sherlock, you can't keep doing this. Remember the last time."

Sherlock didn't reply, but I saw his face change slightly behind the mask. Mycroft noticed it too.

"Well, then!" Mycroft exclaimed in a fake happy way. He turned to leave, before turning around.

"Lily, can I have a word with you?"

Sherlock's eyes snapped open. He looked between Mycroft and me.

"Uh, okay," I said, feeling slightly intimidated. Sherlock had once called his brother 'the most powerful man in Great Britain' and something told me that the fact that he works for the government and knows all the secret services meant nothing too good for me.

We stepped outside the flat door and went halfway down the stairs.

"So," Mycroft turned, "You really do work for SHIELD, do you?"

"Yes," I paused before adding, "Have you been dipping your toes into the American secret services?"

"I… interfere with all of it, Lily Starling. I know Nick Fury personally. We went out for McDonald's once in America!" Something told me he was being sarcastic.

"Okay, so- you know about the initiative?" I prompted.

"What is your SHIELD clearance level, Ms Starling?"

"Doctor, actually. Level Seven."

Mycroft glanced at me and looked down at my flat in 221C. The door was half open, so a small bit of the SHIELD technology could be seen.

"Good. So you know then."

"Yeah, but so do a bunch of others, what are you asking me?"

"Will you be moving to America once it's set up?" Mycroft asked.

Would I? To be fair, that'd be the logical thing to do. Live in one of their helicarriers, or their facilities. Front-row seats, and much more things to do. I probably would. They would need me.

"Yeah, I would think so, why?"

Mycroft glanced away.

"I've heard- from John- that Sherlock seems to- not to mind your presence, which is rare for someone like him. I'm just saying- don't you go leaking SHIELD secrets to him. He's very good at indiscrete interrogation and I don't want him to dabble in that too. Furthermore. I also hope you won't get too… attached."

"Attached?"

"According to John," Mycroft said, looking at me in a perfectly ordinary non-suggestive way that still seemed to suggest something.

Oh God.

"Look, we've literally known each other for less than three months, and I just moved here temporarily while the initiative was being set up, so…" I trailed off. Mycroft's eyes were boring a hole in me.

"I track my little brother more than he thinks. According to my reports, you jumped on a hound to save him at Baskerville, following which he seemed to have increased his respect for you. And you routinely spend time in his flat. I simply do not wish for you or him to- blunder, like he did with Irene Adler," Mycroft said.

"You're not the only one who conducts surveillance on their employees," I remarked.

Mycroft nodded.

"True," Mycroft paused, fidgeting with his umbrella. "I hope you can keep him entertained. I checked your files. Impressive record. And now you know what he deos to himself to get off."

I feared I knew exactly what he meant.

"Sure, but why don't you just, you know, entertain him, more… often," I trailed off under his icy blue glare. They had the same eyes.

"My brother and I have a difficult relationship. Too much history between us."

"Ah. Sibling rivalry?" I chuckled.

Mycroft glared at me.

"Okay, forget it. But sure, yeah. I don't mind going out with Sherlock- as in, on cases, keep him sane. And I'll try to keep him rational."

Mycroft got ready to go, saying, "For someone like my little brother, John is a great influence to balance him out, but sometimes he needs a like-minded individual to talk to."

"Like-minded?" I asked sceptically. I wasn't that mean. Okay, I was, if I got pissed. But I wasn't a junkie.

Mycroft raised his eyebrows. I watched passively as he left, bidding goodbye to Mrs Hudson. Should I go back up or back into my flat? I had a feeling that Mycroft chose to talk to me on the stairs so I would be pressured to choose.

As much as I didn't want to admit it, I was intimidated by that man, more him than his junkie brother.

I walked back into 221B, upon which Sherlock immediately asked.

"Did he bribe you?"

"What?"

Sherlock ignored my question and waited for an answer.

"No. No! We just had a little chat about, er…"

Sherlock raised his eyebrow.

"…things. Relating to our- my job, that is."

Sherlock got up.

"Yes, I'm sure you did. And he also bugged your shirt. Did you notice? He did that to John once. Temporary bug, because you'll change eventually, but…"

Sherlock walked over and picked a little device out from my shirt, near my shoulder blade. I stiffened at his proximity.

Sherlock eventually wiggled the bug out. It was a small metal device, with a very small and faint light that was barely noticeable. It also had legs, like a spider, which hitched onto my clothing when he flicked it at me. Sherlock held it up to my face.

"Ah."

"Blud," Sherlock said to the bug, before flicking it out of the window. I giggled.

"What?"

"Nothing."

We just stood there for a bit while I absent-mindedly scratched at where the bug had just come off. I didn't know why, but Sherlock was standing too close. I felt my breathing become a little bit shallower. Why was I so nervous? I could feel his body heat radiating. He smelt like- a guy. And I could feel his eyes on me, as if trying to figure out what Mycroft and I had been talking about.

"Did he leave another?" I asked.

"Another bug? Probably not, judging by the fact that-"

"Okay, understood." I didn't feel like listening to another one of his deductions.

Sherlock nodded and turned on his heel, sitting heavily down on his chair again. I went back to the sofa and continued chilling. It was Saturday, after all.

"What exactly do you do at SHIELD?" Sherlock suddenly asked.

"And when have you taken an interest in another human being?" I retorted.

Sherlock shrugged.

"Just curious what could have made my brother so interested."

"I told you. Scientist."

"Yes, but exactly. Research? Theoretical? Experimental? Do you have a specific field of research or do you go out with their espionage missions and see if anything needs analysis?"

"Depends. For now, nothing much is happening- yet- so I'm mainly just researching. Sometimes they get us undercover to work as scientists in suspicious companies, which actually I haven't done yet. Sometimes they put scientists in teams of spies and agents just in case we're needed."

"Oh," Sherlock nodded. "And what happens to you, specifically, if something comes up?"

"Well, to be fair I'm one of their best who are stilll young and fit enough to be more than a scientist in the field if needed, so I'll probably go out there. They aren't roping me in for anything other than things of highest importance because I'm taking a break from fieldwork, but yeah," I paused slightly. Should I tell him that I would probably have to leave soon?

"But there's something big coming up, so I'll probably have to go back to America."

Sherlock looked at me.

"You're leaving?"

"Mm, yeah, probably. Eventually. I might come back to London if there's another dry spell," I wasn't sure whether I should say something more.

"Oh," Sherlock brooded for a second. "When someone actually smart and interesting comes along, they have to leave."

Did I hear right? Did Sherlock Holmes, the world's most arrogant ass who couldn't admit that he was wrong on any point, just admit that I was smart?

"You're complimenting me?"

"Mediocrity knows nothing higher than itself, but talent instantly recognises genius."

I wasn't exactly sure what to say to that. But I was bored, so why not take advantage of Sherlock actually talking for once?

"Game of chess? I would have played Cluedo but that's a three-player game," I remarked.

Sherlock sat up.

"Chess, sure. You'll lose."

"No, I won't."

Sherlock got up to get his chess set, but I raised a finger.

"Nuh-uh, no classic chess set. Let's play with my holographic toy."

Sherlock squinted at me. I whipped out my phone- SHIELD's phone for me, more accurately. It was state of the art technology, and had the options of doing- well, basically everything. My personal assitant Tardis was also coded in it.

"Hi Tardis, open the chess set, please." I wasn't sure why I was saying please to a phone, but oh well.

"Password?"

"I'll use retinal scan," I said, holding my eye up to the scanner. Verified.

A few seconds later, a meter by meter large holographic chess set had materialised in front of us. The board was blue and white, while the pieces were solid blue and outlined white.

"Woah," Sherlock's eyes widened. I smiled at his reaction.

"One of the perks of working for SHIELD, to be honest."

"I'll take white."

"Sure thing. Tardis, I'll take black."

The pieces swapped places.

"How do you move the pieces?" Sherlock asked, standing up.

"Just hover pinch the air above it. Like how you move any normal piece," I asked Tardis to stop game and demonstrated.

"Oh."

And so we started playing. I must say, Sherlock was a worthy opponent. I had played with this chess set often during lunch breaks, because everyone at my workplace was as nerdy as me. Scientific aptitude and intelligence weren't directly correlated to skill at chess, but I had practised and usually ended up winning relatively easily, save for the bad days. But Sherlock was good. Really good. There was also something about the way he held himself as he walked around the chess board, thinking, that intimidated me.

In the end, it was a checkmate. I won. Not easily. It was only because Sherlock slipped up in sacrificing his rook, underestimating the power of an active bishop.

"Checkmate," Tardis declared.

I glanced up at Sherlock's reaction. He was pouting. Didn't like to lose. I was about to say 'it's okay', before realising that I would have the exact same reaction as him if I had lost.

"It was a good game. Thanks," I said, keeping my tone neutral and warm. That was the standard ending off of a game from the losing player, but I decided to be nice for once.

"Well, never underestimate the power of a rook and pawn combo," he muttered.

"I thought it was my bishop that did it."

"No, my knight was close to cornering you on that, I was just behind one a few moves."

I glanced at the chess board.

"You're right. Tardis, add this game to your program, it was good. Next time if I play against you I expect a better game."

"Yes boss," my phone said flatly. I didn't know why, but Tardis has a bit of a personality. Sherlock smirked, not meeting my eye.

"Well, so-"

"Have I missed something?" John had returned.

"How'd your date go?" I retorted.

"Ah, well…" John looked a little sad.

Sherlock and I smirked at each other. This was his second failed date in two weeks.

John paused, stepped inside and shut the door.

"I might as well ask the same of you," John said, sitting in his chair.

"What?" Sherlock asked.

"How did your date go?"

I gaped at him. Was he seriously suggesting-

"We were playing chess," Sherlock said.

"I won," I interjected.

Sherlock glared at me in a mock angry way. I grinned back and he looked away, smiling.

"Mm, no, you're standing on the same side of the chess board and the pieces haven't moved," John observed. Sherlock mouthed, "Good observation, John."

"Actually… it's called a postgame debrief, and Tardis here just resetted it. Tardis, revert to the last game's ending."

The messed up board immediately returned. John glanced at it.

"Oh."

Sherlock was in a visibily better mood. He strutted back to his armchair and sat down. I settled for the couch.

"Do you have any more games on that thing?" Sherlock asked, looking straight at me. Why did he like to look straight at people?

"Huh? Oh, um, yeah. I have Cluedo, Monopoly, Operation, and a load of other stuff."

"Let's play Cluedo," John suggested.

"Seriously?" I asked.

Sherlock grimaced.

"Nope."

"Oh, come on. If you want to beat Lily, that's the only way," John retorted.

"Since when did he want to beat me?" I asked.

"You beat him at chess, he needs to get even," John said.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows at his knees.

"Actually, if that's the aim, I can stand Cluedo."

"Uh…" I cleared my throat.

"I suck at Cluedo, but whatever. Tardis, I hope you've been listening, bring it up. Three players."

Tardis brought up Cluedo. It then started shuffling the cards automatically, picking out one from each pile and dealing the rest instantly. It was just for show, because everything was run through instantaneously in the algorithm.

"SHIELD is so cool," John muttered.

"Trust me, it wears off after a while and everyone almost gets killed everyday," I remarked.

Tardis flashed for us to customise our players. Out of habit, I was about to skip that step, but-

"Change Mr Green to Mycroft, Mrs White to Mrs Hudson, Professor Plum to Sherlock, Mrs Peacock to me, Colonel Mustard to John and Miss Scarlet to…"

"Irene Adler," John interrupted.

"Who?" I momentarily forgot, before remembering.

"Oh. The woman. The woman. She was the object of a case once? A dominatrix. And Sherlock was-"

Sherlock glared at John, saying, "Shut up."

Oh. I suddenly understood, fearing that I knew exactly what he meant. John mouthed, "I'll tell you later."

"And by the way, I'm Captain John Watson, not Colonel, but I can dream," John quipped out loud. I smiled. I opened my mouth to make a joke about Captain America, but froze. I was not supposed to tell anyone he was alive. And it would surely be suspicious if I dragged his name up.

So we played Cluedo. We agreed that no detective sheets were allowed, because that would make it far too easy. And obviously Sherlock won. Easily. Just a few rounds in.

"This is simple. Mrs Hudson, candlestick, hall."

I randomly started laughing because it was weird that Mrs Hudson was a murderer according to my character assignments, but okay. Sherlock smiled at me. Warmly. I caught his eye, and immediately looked away.

I couldn't get attached. We could be friends. I never got attached. Yet he made me feel something different.

-Sherlock's POV-

I didn't know what had gotten to me that day. Suddenly, all my anger at Mycroft visiting for my drugs thing (again!) dissipated. Lily was smart. Admirably. She could beat me at chess, something only Mycroft could do. And yet she was brave too, jumping on that hound that time. But she knew how to enjoy herself. The way she laughed, it gave me the same- emotion- that I felt when I saw John happy. But this was a little different.

No. I couldn't get attached. She would leave anyway. She had a dangerous job at SHIELD and was only biding her time here. Something big- probably in America mainly- was going to happen. Why else would Mycroft visit, other than the drugs thing?

We could be friends. I never got attached. As Mycroft has always said- Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side. Love is a dangerous disadvantage. I had already experienced that first-hand with Irene Adler.

Don't think about her.

-Lily's POV-

"Well, I suppose we're even now. And I've wasted enough time. I gotta go back to work," I said.

"It's Saturday," John protested.

"Mostly catching up on any gossip relating to SHIELD and persuading the media not to spread more. All the agents have that responsibility," I said. "And to be fair some of the stuff on the internet- the everyday, stupid part of the internet- are hilarious."

"No, you're actually reading John's blog and trying to find my Twitter account," Sherlock said.

"What?"

"Judging by the way you type and the rate of your scrolling just now."

Oh shit.

"I haven't found it," I paused. "Wait, so you do have a twitter account?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I use it to see what's up and the world from an ordinary person's perspective."

"Oh."

John couldn't help but chuckle. I felt super self-conscious, as Sherlock looked at me in the eye. Playfully.

"Well then! I better get going. Some of the things I'm about to look up aren't exactly public knowledge, so…"

"Is that why Mycroft was so secretive? Something about an initiative?" Sherlock asked.

I froze. How could he-? Yet I couldn't make it too obvious, so I just lied.

"Huh? No, nothing like that. Just some newly emerging technologies which I, as a scientist, gotta investigate. Sorry, you can't play with my toys here, so I gotta take my phone." I swept up my phone, causing the holographic display to disappear immediately, and left. Quickly. Before anyone could ask more questions.


	7. (6) I Hate Spiders

It was in the months leading up the that fateful day that I got my first taste of the danger surrounding Sherlock's and John's lives.

Previously, Sherlock had been a rookie detective- not in terms of skill, but in terms of the types of cases he solved. Robberies, murders- as long as it was interesting, he would take it, no matter the prestige. Even if it were some lonely genius desperate to prove himself in a particularly intriguing domestic murder. Yet lately, he had been asked by DI Lestrade to solve a number of high-profile cases: the missing Reichenbach paintings, the kidnapping of the banker and capturing Interpol's Most Wanted man since 1982. They were not easy, though lacked the flair and daring of rookie criminals which Sherlock had almost admired. In fact, the higher-profile the case, the more running around and chasing criminals it involved.

Sherlock's face appeared in the newspapers as a hero (partly obstructed by a ridiculous yet slightly cute looking deerstalker hat). He was scattered over the tabloids, and rumours about Sherlock's and John's relationship were everywhere. I didn't come along on the Reichenbach case, though I did help with my SHIELD access to data on the net; I was the one with the GPS and the bugs on Sherlock and John when they went in to rescue the kidnapped banker and help him escape; and again I helped them capture the criminal with SHIELD's facial recognition software. It was a whirlwind of a few months, giving me a much-needed reprise from poring over diagrams of cells infected by gamma rays and who knew what.

Sherlock, John and I also became a relatively well-gelled team. I definitely have to admit- I was developing a certain fondness towards both of the boys. There was something about the way they ran around solving mysteries that was oddly fascinating and endearing, and the dynamics in 221B Baker Street were at worst interesting to observe and at best fun to be a part of. Shooting walls, shouting, arguing about pointless things beat living alone anytime.

One morning, we were reading the papers in the morning. We had ordered subscriptions for some tabloids too, and one particular one had the headline: Boffin Sherlock Holmes, and some cliche tabloid catchphrase.

"Boffin. Boffin Sherlock Holmes," Sherlock muttered, pacing around and throwing one of the papers at John.

"Everybody gets one," John said.

"One what?"

"Tabloid nickname. SuBo, Nasty Nick. Shouldn't worry- I'll probably get one soon."

"Page five, column six, first sentence."

John turned the page. Sherlock picked up his hat, the one that he had wore in a picture which Lestrade gave him. He punched it.

"Why is it always the hat photograph?"

"Bachelor John Watson? Bachelor?"

"What sort of hat is it, anyway?"

"Bachelor? What the hell are they implying?"

"Could be you're not actually a doctor, or that you're unmarried, or both," I remarked, leaning over.

"Is it a cap? Why has it got two fronts?"

John glanced at Sherlock, who was twisting it back and forth.

"It's a deerstalker," he said, turning back to the article. "Frquently seen in the company of bachelor John Watson…"

"You know, I'm glad I was just behind the scenes," I remarked, speed reading the article. Tabloids were apparently wondering how Sherlock chose John as his partner in solving crimes and whether a bunch of fans who submitted letters could join the team, and I was fortunately not mentioned.

"You stalk a deer with a hat? What are you gonna do- throw it?"

"…confirmed bachelor John Watson?"

"That means you're gay," I said, grinning at John.

"Some sort of death frisbee?" Sherlock was still muttering to himself.

"Okay, this is too much. We need to be more careful," John said indignantly.

"It's got flaps… ear flaps. It's an ear hat, John," Sherlock said, throwing the hat like a frisbee at John. He caught it deftly.

"What do you mean 'more careful'?" Sherlock asked.

"I mean this isn't a deerstalker now; it's a Sherlock Holmes hat. I mean that you're not exactly a private detective any more," John said, holding up two fingers close together. "You're this far from famous."

"Oh, it'll pass," Sherlock said, slumping down into his armchair.

"It'd better pass. the press will turn, Sherlock. They always turn, and they'll turn on you."

SHerlock squinted at John.

"It really bothers you."

"What?"

"What people say."

"Yes."

"About me? I don't understand- why would it upset you?"

"More like second-hand embarrassment, I'd like to think," I joked. Sherlock glared at me to shut up.

"Just try to keep a low profile. Find yourself a little case this week. Stay out of the news," John said after a long pause.

Sherlock was really clueless. It was more than second-hand embarrassment- he had no idea that people cared. Empathy? He had the empathy and emotional intelligence of a three year old.

Okay, a bit of an anecdote here. About how I heard of James Moriarty and Irene Adler. John and I have a lot of chats, mainly about Sherlock and science. He filled me in on two of the most interesting cases he had done wuth Sherlock.

The first was a series of cases. Apparently, most of the baddies- killers, robbers, assassins- were pawns in a great game, with James Moriarty in the centre. A sort of consulting criminal, whom criminals go to for help- the mirror image of how detectives went to Sherlock for help. Moriarty had taken a special interest in Sherlock because they were equal and opposites, especially following the meeting where John and Sherlock both almost died at a swimming pool. I found how the call and ringtone of 'Stayin' Alive' saved them quite amusing, but Moriarty sent a chill up my spine. He could potentially have power over blackmailers and top government officials, and if stuff like SHIELD's secrets got out, ordinary people would go over their heads. I've seen the Internet. It bothered me how the distribution of facts was so lopsided and how about 90% of media for normal people were rumours and opinions. Keyword: Hulk, the number of conspiracy theories were astonishing. Keyword: Tony Stark, internet's boyfriend. Moriarty could cause chaos. I wondered if SHIELD marked him down.

Secondly, Irene Adler. She was a dominatrix and apparently had in possession some compromising photographs of her and one of the royal family. I didn't feel like imagining it further, but anyway, Mycroft wanted Sherlock to get it back. There had been an elaborate plan, which was foiled by Irene appearing stark naked (yes, it is a good pun) in front of Sherlock and a couple of CIA killers coming to interfere. According to John, Irene faked her death and Sherlock seemed to have developed quite a liking for her, before she turned up again. Sherlock helped her solve an encrypted email in order to impress her, which turned out to be part of some huge plan involving a planeful of dead people with Moriarty above it all. So basically Sherlock screwed up because of his crush on her, but in the end he found that the password to her phone which contained all the sensitive documents was the first four letters of his name (because, understandably or not, Irene liked Sherlock), thereby saving his brother from embarrassment. Unfrotunately, his brother planned her execution by a terrorist cell in the Middle East, so she was dead. Sad, but- SHerlock Holmes in love with a sex worker? I didn't think it too appealing. And it also made me slightly-

One day, I was in the boys' flat again, when Sherlock's phone trilled.

"I'll get it, shall I?" John said to Sherlock, who was busy with his microscope. He read it and passed it to Sherlock.

"Here."

"Not now, I'm busy."

"Sherlock…"

"Not now."

"He's back," John panted. I sat up.

"Moriarty?"

John nodded grimly. Lips tight, eyes wide. Fear. Not the wild kind that you got if the Hulk was running rampage in the same city, or there was a phantom hound, that I could counter. No, the suspicion, the type where any small action might mean anything and the worst could happen without warning. Considering how Moriarty once strapped a bomb on him, that wouldn't be too ill-founded a fear. Sherlock's eyes widened and his pupils contracted as he scanned the message.

"We're going to the Tower of London."

At the Tower, Lestrade showed us security footage of Moriarty breaking into the case that held the Crown Jewels. Using a diamond. Crafty. And yet he didn't struggle and allowed himself to be caught. Apparently, at the same time he also broke into the Bank of England and Pentonville Prison.

A different class of criminal. At SHIELD, I often dealt with people who wanted to use science for personal gain. Or people who felt that SHIELD was wrong. We never were wrong. The world may be a screwed up place, but SHIELD was the best thing there was to keep people safe. Or was it?

Lestrade played the clip backwards. And there it was. RIght before he broke the glass, Moriarty had scribbled a message. 'Get Sherlock', with a smiley in the 'O'.

"That glass is tougher than anything," Lestrade remarked.

"Not tougher than crystallised carbon. He used a diamond," said Sherlock.

"Why did he break in?" I asked. In my experience, criminals always had an obvious motive.

Sherlock didn't reply me, his face set like a stone mask.

Sherlock was chosen to be the star witness in Moriarty's trial. John and I were to sit in the audience. That morning, Sherlock was buttoning up his jacket primly while John fixed his tie in the mirror. I was wearing a slight variation of my black getup, complete with a purple jacket.

"Ready?" John asked the two of us.

"Yes."

The moment we stepped out of the flat, the paparazzi and media blinded us with flashes of photography. I squinted and ducked my head, hoping the tabloids wouldn't start rumours about me next. I could imagine the headlines. 'Mystery brunette seen with crime-solving duo Sherlock Holmes and John Watson- friendship or-'

"Get in," John shouted over the din of questions, opening the door for Sherlock and I to climb in, before going round the other side. The police car quickly zoomed away, the driver eager to get away from this particular side of society.

As we drove towards the court, John started.

"Remember..."

"Yes," Sherlock said.

"Remember-"

"Yes."

"Remember what they told you: don't try to be clever-"

"No."

"… and please, just keep it simple and brief."

"God forbid the star witness at the trial should come across as intelligent."

"Intelligent, fine; let's give smart-arse a wide berth," I suggested. Sherlock paused before saying, "I'll just be myself.

John sighed loudly.

We were escorted to wait outside the courtrooms in the main lobby. A bunch of serious looking people- just like in SHIELD, but more serious and boring- were milling around. Sherlock went to the toilet while John and I waited in the marble white hall.

Suddenly, I spotted a woman walking towards the toilets. Why was she here? She was sloppily dressed, her skirt was repaired many times and-

She was wearing a deerstalker hat.

Seriously? I wanted to point it out to John so that we could have a good laugh and tease Sherlock about his female admirer, before something weird happened that stopped my face mid-smile. She went into the male toilet. Where Sherlock was. Either she was trans, or she was a stalker. My suspicion rose.

I dropped the grin and immediately stood up and gestured vaguely at the toilets, before walking off. Good thing that the toilets were angled so that unless you were observing it carefully, you couldn't see the doors.

I stood as close to the male toilet door as I could without seeming suspicious, taking out my phone and checking my watch as if waiting for someone. I heard voices. Indistinct voices. One was unmistakably Sherlock's, and the other was a high-pitched hoarse one.

Suddenly, for no rational reason, I felt a strong stab of hatred- jealousy. What on earth was the girl doing, stalking Sherlock? Crazed fan. Maybe even a paparazzi posing as a fan. I felt my breathing deepen. I suddenly felt angry. Someone as stupid as her thought she could- No, I couldn't judge people's intelligence before I knew them, that could be dangerous. And yet...

After a while, the voices moved closer to the door. I could here the words clearer.

"You and John Watson- just platonic? Can I put you down for a 'no' there, as well?" the girl said. I grimaced. Seriously?

I heard Sherlock's breathing loud and clear.

"There's all sorts of gossip in the press about you. Sooner of later you're gonna need someone on your side… someone to set the record straight," the girl continued.

Seriously? I was half agape. I mean, I've always heard of the really desperate fans of people like Tom Cruise or Daniel Craig, but this? I tried calming myself down by thinking of Tony Stark's legion of fangirls which outnumbered the number of square centimetres in his house, but well…

"And you think you're the girl for that job, do you?" Sherlock's voice.

"I'm smart, and you can trust me, totally."

I gagged and almost turned to go to the ladies'.

"Smart, okay: investigative journalist. Good. Well, look at me and tell me what you see. If you're that skilful, you don't need an interview. You can just read what you need."

There was a pause.

"No? Okay, my turn. I look at you and I see someone who's still waiting for their first big scoop so that their editor will notice them. You're wearing an expensive skirt but it's been re-hemmed twice; only posh skirt you've got. And your nails: you can't afford to do them that often. I see someone who's hungry. I don't see smart, and I definitely don't see trustworthy, but I'll give you a quote if you like – three little words," Sherlock said quickly.

"You. Repel. Me."

I saw shadows very close to the door, so I immediately backed away.

Sherlock came out of the toilet, hands dripping wet and la stormy look on his face. I glanced behind him. The girl who went in was standing dumbstruck by the door. He blouse was unzipped down, showing way more skin than was appropriate.

"Don't talk, I'm determined to get as far away from her as I could," Sherlock whispered, grabbing my arm.

"This is an act? I heard your conversation," I said, slightly flustered by his grip. His hands were strong. He seemed to have no qualms about grabbing people's arms, because that was not the first time he did it to me. But it was the first time I wasn't wearing a jacket- I had taken it off. His skin was rough yet soft.

"Yes," Sherlock said.

I turned around indiscreetly to see the girl standing there, staring at me open-mouthed. I felt a twinge of pride, which diminished the moment we stepped in front of John and he promptly dropped his hand, wiping it apologetically and not meeting my eye.

"Did I miss something?" John asked, standing up.

"What the hell was she doing in there?" I asked Sherlock, ignoring John and shrugging on my jacket.

"Some stupid journalist trying to seduce me with her body," Sherlock said, grimacing, still not looking at me.

"Ah, you're going to get a lot of that eventually," I remarked without thinking.

"What?" Sherlock looked up.

Shit.

"As in, you know, there will always be desperate people who find you desirable. There are people who want to marry the Hulk." Good. I didn't stutter, yet I was suddenly very aware of him standing very close to me despite having dropped my arm. I caught a whiff of cologne.

"Ahem," John cleared his throat, breaking the eye contact between Sherlock and me.

"The call to go in was like two minutes ago. Let's go," John said, turning around quickly and leading the way. I followed slightly behind, not wanting any pap to associate me with them.

John and I went upstairs to the public gallery. I had never been to court before, so I was quite intrigued by the grandeur and discipline of the whole place. Carved wooden tables, marble floor and walls, silence. I spotted Sherlock in the witness box and he caught me eye. I warned/reminded him with a raise of my eyebrows.

The case started. After the introductions, the prosecutor started talking to Sherlock.

"A consulting criminal."

"Yes."

"Your words. Can you expand on that answer?"

"James Moriarty is for hire."

"A tradesman?"

"Yes."

"But not the sort who'd fix your heating."

"No, the sort who'd plant a bomb or stage an assassination, but I'm sure he'd make a pretty decent job of your boiler," Sherlock said. I couldn't help but smile, and John threw me a dirty look. Sassy Sherlock.

"Would you describe him as-"

"Leading," Sherlock interrupted. I stiffened.

"What?"

"Can't do that. You're leading the witness," Sherlock said, looking at the defending barrister. "He'll object and the judge will uphold."

The judge looked exasperated. John sighed audibly. I looked down, but couldn't help smile.

"Mr Holmes," the judge said.

"Ask me how. How would I describe him? What opinion have I formed of him? Do they not teach you this," Sherlock scoffed at the prosecutor.

"Mr Holmes, we're fine without your help," the judge said. John closed his eyes, cringing. I looked back up and suddenly spotted the girl from the toilet walking into the public gallery. I cringed too, but luckily she didn't come anywhere near me. Good.

"How would you describe this man- his character?"

"First mistake," Sherlock said, looking straight at Moriarty. "James Moriarty isn't a man at all- he's a spider, a spider at the centre of a web- a criminal web with a thousand threads and he knows precisely how each and every single one of them dances."

Moriarty nodded and smiled. Despite Sherlock's obviously poetic description, I couldn't help but feel a little shiver. If he knew everything… a thousand threas; he had unlimited knowledge. Knowledge was power. And for someone like him...

"And how long…" the prosecutor began.

Sherlock closed his eyes. "No, no, don't- don't do that. That's really not a good question."

"Mr Holmes," the judge interjected.

"How long have I known him? Not really your best line of enquiry. We met twice, five minutes in total. I pulled a gun, he tried to blow me up. I felt we had a special something."

I glanced at Moriarty, who raised his eyebrows flirtatiously at Sherlock.

"Miss Sorrel, are you seriously claiming this man is an expert, after knowing the accused for just five minutes?" the judge asked.

"Two minutes would have made me an expert. Five was ample," Sherlock said curtly.

"Mr Holmes, that's a matter for the jury!"

"Oh, really?" Sherlock said, turning around to the jury box. John facepalmed beside me. Usually, I wouldn't have been entertained by his showing off, but that day I felt like I may as well enjoy his antics, and sat forward, amused.

"One librarian; two teachers; two high-pressure jobs, probably the City. THe foreman's a medial secretary, trained abroad judging by her shorthand."

"Mr Holmes!"

I smiled. I had always held a disdain for judges and their bureacractic proceedings, and being in court the first time confirmed the unnecessasity of most of the proceedings. Sure, they had authority, but that didn't mean I had to like them.

"Seven are married and two are having an affair- with each other, it would seem! Oh, and they've just had tea and biscuits. Would you like to know who ate the wafer?"

I laughed softly out loud. John elbowed me.

"Mr Holmes. You've been called here to answer Miss Sorrel's questions, not to give us a display of your intellectual prowess!"

Sherlock glanced up at the public gallery and caught my eye. Then he winked, smirking. I smiled back, but John looked the other way and pretended he didn't know Sherlock.

"Oh, I don't know this witness, he's just some cranky fool," John mouthed to himself.

"Keep your answers brief and to the point. Anything else will be treated as contempt. Do you think you could survive for just a few minutes without showing off?" the judge said, affronted.

Sherlock paused, squinting at the judge. Here it came.

I decided that I wouldn't document exactly what he said about the judge, because some of it was slightly scarring and to be fair, rather rude. He did touch on a history of cheating, erectile dysfunction and being a glutton, and worse. But I enjoyed it. The judge was understandably affronted, asking his guards to take Sherlock to the cells. Sherlock allowed himself to be led away, before catching my eye again. I shrugged. He smiled back. Nothing would happen to him anyway. They couldn't blame him for exposing the truth.

The trial continued for a little while, and I tuned myself mostly out, but I was watching Moriarty intently. He was just standing there, almost relaxed, eyebrows arched and smiling playfully at every accusation made to him. Did he want to go to jail or something? I could see that even the jury was slightly creeped by his attitude. Meanwhile, his defender just sat there, never moving. Useless.

The trial for the day ended, and John and I wordlessly made our way to the cells under the courts. Sherlock had just been released and was at the counter signing for his possessions. John walked over angrily and leant against the desk, arms folded.

"What did I say? I said, 'Don't get clever."

"I can't just turn it on and off like a tap," Sherlock said.

I smiled. John glared at me.

"Oh, no, don't you go encouraging him. I've had-"

"Well?" Sherlock interrupted, walking off.

"Well what?" John asked, following.

"You two were there for the whole thing, up in the gallery, start to finish."

"Like you said. He sat on his backside, never even stirred," I replied.

"Moriarty's not mounting any defence."

There was a heavy silence.

The trial went on for a few more days. Unfortunately, I had to go to work, ditching John to go attend on his own while Sherlock stayed at home because he was banned from court.

"Not guilty. Moriarty's walked free."

I swear, I nearly dropped the phone (it was Mrs Hudson's phone installed into the wall, but I thought the extension cord was too long). Not guilty? Any ordinary sane person would be able to tell that he was guilty.

"Did he bribe the jury? I don't know, blackmail, maybe?" I asked.

There was a pause on the line.

"I don't know. And I don't like not knowing."

There was a long pause. I wasn't sure if he hung up or not, but he suddenly said, "Gotta go. Bye."

That Saturday, I was enjoying some down time in my own house when I heard Lestrade's voice outside. He was with a female police officer, one with extremely frizzy hair and a strong jutting chin. I stepped out of my house.

"What's it this time?" I called.

"Kidnapping. The children of Rufus Bruhl, ambassador to the US," Lestrade said grimly.

I froze, smile wiped clean off. That was the guy who was on some terms with SHIELD and founded the British branch.

"Who are you?" the female officer said accusingly to me. I stiffened, my friendliness that I had turned on towards Lestrade gone. Lestrade quickly went upstairs, while the other girl and I hung around downstairs.

"I may as well ask the same of you," I said coldly. I didn't like her.

"Sergeant Sally Donovan, Scotland Yard. Are you friends with the freak?"

I was about to ask who the freak was, before I realised that she could only mean Sherlock.

"No, I've only just met her," I said, before grinning to myself evilly and running up to Sherlock's flat before she could retort or even understand what I just said.

Sherlock was in his chair, not looking at Lestrade while he recounted the case to him. When I entered though, he looked up briefly before averting his gaze again.

"Sherlock, something weird-" John's voice.

"What's going on?" he asked, seeing Lestrade and Donovan and I in Sherlock's flat.

"Kidnapping," Sherlock said, getting up and going to his laptop and typing rapidly.

"Rufus Bruhl, ambassador to the US."

"He's in Washington, isn't he?" John asked.

"Not him- his children, Max and Claudette, age seven and nine."

Donovan brandished a couple of photographs in John's face.

"They're at St Aldate's," Lestrade continued.

"Posh boarding place down in Surrey," Donovan supplied. I smiled- I myself had been to Wycombe Abbey.

Lestrade turned to Sherlock. "The school broke up- all the other boarders went home- just a few kids remained, including those two."

"The kids have vanished," said Donovan.

"The ambassador's asked for you personally," Lestrade said, as Sherlock got up and slung his coat over his arm.

"The Reichenbach Hero," Donovan said sarcastically. Her face did look extremely punchable.

Sherlock went out of the room. Lestrade followed him out, saying to me, "Isn't it great to be working with a celebrity!"

I forced a smile and followed them out, while Donovan and John followed behind me.

The five of us sat in Lestrade's police car, with Donovan in shotgun and the three of us at the back. We drove to St Aldate's school, ignoring each other. There were a couple of police cares parked there, and a woman sitting on the trunk of one of them crying. We got out and approached the woman. House mistress?

"It's all right," I heard a police officer say to her.

"Miss Mackenzie, House mistress. Go easy," Lestrade mouthed to Sherlock.

Sherlock walked over commandingly to the woman.

"Miss Mackenzie, you're in charge of pupil welfare, yet you left this place wide open last night," Sherlock's voice rose into a loud shout. "What are you? An idiot, a drunk or a criminal?"

I stepped forward to stop him as he grabbed the shock blanket and pulled it from her shoulders. She gasped in fear and looked helplessly at me.

"Now quickly, tell me!" Sherlock shouted.

"All the doors and windows were properly bolted. No one- not even me, went into their room last night. You have to believe me!"

A warm smile appeared on Sherlock's face. I took a step back. Such a change in demeanour.

"I do. I just wanted you to speak quickly," Sherlock said gently, smiling his warm smile before turning to one of the police officers. "Miss Mackenzie will need to breathe into a bag now."

The house mistress resumed gasping and crying.

"You know, I appreciate your questioning skills, but that's a little too far. It makes you seem-" I started.

"Thanks, but no thanks," Sherlock said curtly.

"I couldn't care less, actually," I said drily, "But maybe you should work on decreasing the number of people who hate you."

Sherlock glanced at me, and I didn't look away. His brows were furrowed.

"Why would I care if ordinary people hate me?"

Numbers. Ordinary people made up the numbers and garnered support and funds and resources to people in power.

I was about to answer, when John cleared his throat and ran between us.

"Six grand a term, you'd expect them to keep the kids safe for you. You said the other kids had all left on their holidays?" John said as we trooped into the dormitories.

Sherlock was already bent down looking under the beds, sniffling around the crime scene like a dog.

"They were the only two sleeping on this floor. Absolutely no sign of a break-in," Lestrade supplied, watching Sherlock with his antics. Trying to learn something, probably.

Sherlock picked up a lacrosse stick and swung it around, before abandoning the idea.

"The intruder must have been hidden inside some place," Lestrade continued, trying to help.

Sherlock opened the girl's trunk, which had the usual boarding school stuff. Clothes, homework, a few books. There was a large envelope with a Hogwarts-letter-like red wax seal on it, which contained a book of fairy-tales. Probably a gift. Sherlock thumbed through everything, but it was perfectly ordinary.

"Show me where the brother slept."

We headed to another smaller room, which was blue and only had one recently-occupied bed. Sherlock walked around to the bed and turned.

"The boy skeeps there every night, gazing at the only light source outside in the corridor. He'd recognise every shape, every outline, the silhouette of everyone who came to the door.

"Okay, so…"

"So someone approchaes the door who he doesn't recognise, an intruder. Maybe he can even see the outline of a weapon," Sherlock said, getting out of the room and closing the door. He pretended to be an intruder, holing up a finger-gun and casting an ominous shadow. I shivered.

"What would he do in the precious few seconds before they came into the room? How would he use them if not to cry out?"

Sherlock came back in and paced around the bed, looking at the boy's stuff.

"This little boy; this particular little boy- who reads all of those spy books. What would he do?"

"He'd leave a sign?" I suggested. Sherlock was really good at staging his investigations, giving the whole process an air of grandeur and coolness.

Sherlock started sniffing noisily around the room, inhaling everything including a cricket bat. John and I exchanged a weird glance at his theatrics. Sherlock picked up an almost empty glass bottle- linseed oil.

"Get Anderson."

Lestrade didn't need telling twice.

"John, Lily, shut the blinds."

Soon, the room was in near-darkness, and Anderson had brought ultraviolet lights. It reminded me of the escape room kind of games I used to love as a kid, only now it was real.

HELP US

A hastily scrawled message on the wall. Out of habit, I analysed the handwriting and deduced the boy's height, but realised that that information was completely useless. I was really no good at this.

"Linseed oil."

"Not much use. Doesn't lead us to the kidnapper," Anderson said. Seriously? I placed him in terms of how much I liked him somewhere down there with Donovan. On a crime scene, anything could help.

"Brilliant, Anderson," Sherlock said. I caught the sarcasm.

"Really?"

"Yes. Brilliant impression of an idiot."

I smiled.

"The floor," Sherlock said, pointing the UV light down. It revealed at least two different sets of footprints. He had left linseed oil for the kidnapper to step on, probably, or smeared it on him.

"He made a trail for us!" John exclaimed.

We followed the footprints towards the door.

"The boy was made to walk ahead of them."

John crouched to look at the footprints. "On, what, tiptoe?"

"Indicates anxiety- gun held to his head," Sherlock said, walking slowly out into the corridor mimicking the poise of a kidnapper holding a boy.

"The girl was pulled beside him, dragged sideways. He had his left arm cradled about her neck," Sherlock said as we continued walking. Slowly, the footsteps faded off.

"That's the end of it. We don't know where they went from here," Anderson said stupidly. "Tells us nothing after all."

Sherlock faked modesty. "You're right, Anderson- nothing." He drew in a breath.

"Except his shoe size, his height, his gait, his walking pace."

I felt my mouth curve into an involuntary smile. Watching people prove others were idiots was fun in a sadistic kind of way.

Sherlock ripped off the blackout material that blocked light from the windows and whipped out a wallet of tools, squatting down and smiling contentedly. Finally, he wasn't bored, he had a case. Probably involved some chemical analysis. I cringed. Chemistry was the only science I struggled at.

"Having fun?" I asked.

"Starting to."

"Maybe don't do the smiling. Kidnapped children?" John suggested.

Sherlock scraped off bits of dried linseed oil and the floor wax where the kidnapper had stepped on, before gingerly putting them into a container.

"We're done here," he said, getting up. "Lestrade! We're going to Bart's to do chemical analysis, and I'll give you the answer in a few hours. Come on."

We hailed a cab, John evidently still troubled by the kidnapped children.

"But how did he get past the CCTV? If all the doors were locked…"

"He walked in when they weren't locked," I suggested, even though I also had no idea how he got in.

"But a stranger can't just walk into a school like that."

"Anyone can walk in anywhere if they pick the right moment. Yesterday- end of term, parents milling around, chauffeurs, staff. What's one more stranger among that lot? He was waiting for them. All he had to do was find a place to hide," Sherlock said.

"But what's his motive?" I asked. Could it be something to do with Rufus Bruhl and SHIELD? He was a high ranking agent, at least Level 9, even if his job wasn't strictly at SHIELD.

Sherlock didn't answer me, and stared grimly ahead.

I had never been to St Bart's on a case before, though I knew of the hospital's existence. So I was rather confused as he led us through to the morgue section.

"Isn't this for dead people?" I asked softly. Why was I whispering?

"You'll see," John whispered.

"I have a lab here," Sherlock said. Okay. Maybe he liked their company.

"Molly!" Sherlock said happily as we walked into a corridor.

"Oh hello, I'm just going out," 'Molly' said. She was a rather small and slight mouse-like woman, who seemed timid around Sherlock or maybe just people in general. Morgue worker? And how did Sherlock know her?

"No, you're not," Sherlock said, turning her around.

"I've got a lunch date," Molly protested.

"Cancel it. You're having lunch with me," Sherlock said, dramatically pulling crisps out of his coat.

"What?"

"Need your help. It's one of your old boyfriends- we're trying to track him down. He's been a bit naughty!"

"Moriarty?" John stopped. I also stopped.

"Course it's Moriarty," Sherlock said, turning around.

"Wait- woah, woah. You dated him?" I asked Molly incredulously, before realising that it wasn't the most tactful.

"Uh- I'm Lily Starling, by the way. Nice to meet you," I said, smiling and extending a hand. Molly took it hesistantly.

"Oh. Hi," she squeaked. Sherlock raised his eyebrows at us.

"Er, Jim actually wasn't even my boyfriend. We went out three times. I ended it," Molly said quickly.

"Jim?" I scoffed. John gave me a 'it's a long story' look.

"Yes, and then he stole the Crown Jewels, broke into the Bank of England and organised a prison break at Pentonville. For the sake of law and order, I suggest you avoid all future attempts at a relationship, Molly," Sherlock said, brandishing the crisps again.

Molly stared after him, bewildered, as we followed Sherlock.

"You know, I'll sit this chemistry thing out, because I think Molly's more qualified for chemistry," I whispered to Sherlock as we walked into a lab. It was super messy, which made me suspect that it was Sherlock's.

"Why?" he asked, as if surprised that I would refuse.

"I once blew up a part of a bunsen burner in primary school, second-degree burns, I'm not doing that again."

"Baskerville was okay."

I frowned and said, "Hmm, yeah, but no thanks."

Sherlock stared at me for a bit before muttering, "As you wish." I could sense his salt. Technically I wasn't obliged to help him. Actually, neither was John or Molly. But we did, anyway.

While Molly and Sherlock worked on the footprint analysis, John stood around watching them and thinking while I prowled around the place. It was really big- messy for a lab, and contained quite a wide range of stuff. Obviously, it was not as expensive as the stuff we had at SHIELD, but it worked. And anyway, I had avoided the chemistry labs at SHIELD, so I wasn't sure how different it would be.

A while later, I heard Molly going out of the door.

"Where'd she go?" I asked Sherlock, who was busying himself with his microscope.

"Crisps," Sherlock said, without looking at me. I squinted. What had he and Molly been talking about?

I was about to try to make conversation, but then I realised that he was wroking and I hated it when people disturbed me while I worked, so-

"Sherlock," John saved me from the awkward silence.

"Hmm?"

"This envelope that was in her trunk. There's another one," John said, showing us the picture of the wax sealed- envelope.

"What?"

"On our doorstep. Found it today," John said, taking the second envelope out from his jacket. "Yes, and look at that. Exactly the same seal."

Sherlock reached into the second envelope and took out some dust. Brown dust.

"Breadcrumbs," I muttered.

"Uh-huh. It was there when I got back," John said.

"A little trace of breadcrumbs, hardback copy of fairy tales," Sherlock muttered, eyes widening. "Two children led into the forest by a wicked father follow a little trail of breadcrumbs."

"That's Hansel and Gretel," I realised.

"What sort of kidnapper leaves clues?" John asked.

"The sort that likes to boast; the sort that thinks it's all a game. He sat it our flat and he said these exact words to me- every fairy-tale needs a good old-fahionsed villain."

"Moriarty?" I asked. "And since when did he come to your flat?"

"Long story. Obviously he didn't do it himself, hired someone else to," Sherlock said. "The fifth substance: it's part of the tale. The witch's house."

"What?"

"The glycerol molecule," Sherlock said.

"I think glycerol's a sugar or fat or enzyme of some sort," I whispered to John.

"PGPR!"

"What's that?"

"It's used in making chocolate," Sherlock said, getting up and leaving while texting something.

John and I followed, taken aback by his sudden realisation.

"You know, I'll just text Molly," John muttered to himself.

Later, we were at Scotland Yard with Lestrade, who showed us a fax (who still fax-ed in this day and age?) which arrived at the Yard, which was a large handwritten note saying 'HURRY UP, THEY'RE DYING!"

"What have you got for us?" Lestrade asked.

"Need to find a place in the city where all five of these things intersect," Sherlock said, handing a sheet to Lestrade.

"Chalk, asphalt, brick dust, vegetation… what the hell is this? Chocolate?"

"I think we're looking for a disused sweet factory."

"We need to narrow that down. A sweet factory with asphalt?" Lestrade tried.

"No, no, no, no. Too general. Need something more specific. Chalk; chalky clay- that's a far thinner band of geology," Sherlock said, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Brick dust?" Lestrade tried again.

"Building site. Bricks from the 1950s."

"There's thousands of building sites in London," Lestrade said, rubbing his face.

"I've got people out looking," Sherlock said.

"So have I," Lestrade said.

"Homeless network- faster than the police, far more relaxed about taking bribes," Sherlock said, smiling smugly. Just then, his phone started trilling repeatedly. Messages.

"Homeless network?" I whispered to John.

"Yeah. Homeless beggars he's befriended, helps him look for stuff and spy on people for money," John said.

"Ah."

"John. Rhododendron ponticum. It matches," Sherlock said, holding up a picture of a purple flower.

Somehow, Sherlock came to a conclusion.

"Addlestone."

"What?" What what what what what. John and Lestrade said that a lot.

"There's a mile of disused factories between the river and the park. It matches everything," Sherlock said, hurrying out of the office while John and I followed. Lestrade called his team.

Later, we were directed by Sherlock to the sweet factory in question. It was old and abandoned, which would make a great free space if it weren't so mouldy.

"You, look over there. Look everywhere. Okay, spread out, please. Spread out," Donovan commanded. I followed Lestrade, Sherlock and John, while Lestrade directed his officers to look around.

We walked deeper into the factory, when Sherlock spotted a bunch of empty sweet wrappers scattered on the floor around a candle. He touched the wick.

"This was alight moments ago. They're still here!" Sherlock shouted, bending down closer and whispering. "Sweet wrappers… what's he been feeding you?"

Sherlock picked up the wrapper and sniffed it, before licking it.

"Hansel and Gretel… mercury!"

I groaned inwardly.

"What?"

"The papers- they're painted with mercury. Lethal. The more of the stuff they ate…"

"It was killing them," John said.

"But it's not enough to kill them on its own. Taken in large enough quantities, eventually it would kill them… He didn't need to be there for the execution. Murder by remote control. He could be a thousand miles away," Sherlock said to himself gleefully. "The hungrier they got, the more they ate… the faster they died. Neat."

"Sherlock," John reminded.

"Over here!" Donovan suddenly shouted. Everyone ran to her. She had found the kids. A boy and a girl, hands still filled with sweets, half dead, knocked out…

Back at Scotland Yard, Donovan and Lestrade were interviewing the girl. The boy was in a worse state, having probably eaten more, and was in the hospital, and the girl was probbaly in shock.

"Right then," Donovan said as she came out of the interview room with Lestrade. "The professionals have finished. If the amateurs wanna go in and have their turn." I counted to ten.

The three of us stood up. Lestrade stopped SHerlock.

"Now, remember, she's in shock and she's just seven years old, so anything you can do to…"

"…not be myself?" Sherlock finished.

"Yeah. Might be helpful."

Sherlock thought for a moment and folded his coat collar down, before leading John, Lestrade and I into the office. The little girl was slightly less dishevelled than when we found her, but still obviously in shock. A female constable was beside her calming her down.

"Claudette, I…" Sherlock began in a warm tone.

Sherlock had just stepped in through the door when she started screaming. The little girl. She started screaming and screaming and screaming. I had never heard anyone scream like that.

"No-no, I know it's been hard for you…" Sherlock continued. She kept screaming and pointed at him.

"Claudette, listen to me…"

"OUT! Get out!" Lestrade commanded, dragging Sherlock out as we all stumbled backwards. I caught a glimpse of Sherlock's face. Confusion. Despair.

There was absolutely no reason for Claudette to be scared of Sherlock. And not that scared.

No.

There was only one possibility.

I didn't want to think about it.

And yet it was the only possibility.

Should I go back in and check?

No, it wasn't possible.

Sherlock couldn't have possibly been involved.

And yet-

He had been able to find the children just from a footprint. I didn't know much about detective work, but even in the stories- no one could do that. Unless it was a set-up. And for what? For him to show off? More likely for him to gain the trust of the Yard, to-

No way. Sherlock was a good guy. I liked him. He was smart, that was just what he did.

But I had to entertain that possibility. I couldn't let personal- sentiment- get in the way. And even if it turned out to be false, I could ask her a few more questions.

"Um," I cleared my throat. "Do you think it's fine for me to go in later, once she's calmed down?"

Lestrade nodded and shrugged, before leading Sherlock and John away.

I waited outside the office for a bit, before counting to ten and walking in. The little girl had calmed down slightly, but the female constable looked at me accusingly.

"Hey, Claudette… I know it's been, well, not a great experience, but-"

Should I play nice? Tell her about detective work? I flashbacked to playing Cluedo with Sherlock and John. What I was about to ask could potentially change that image.

"-listen. I've got one question, just one, then you can rest. Just now, that man- the tall one with the curly hair and coat- was he your kidnapper? Did you see him, at all, while you were being kidnapped?" I suddenly realised that I had been beside him all the while, but maybe the whole thing was arranged beforehand. Sherlock didn't need to- no, hypothetically, Sherlock or the kidnapper didn't need to be there for the whole thing. Hadn't he said 'murder by remote control?'

The little girl looked up at me, her green eyes wide in fear. Then she nodded.

I blinked.

"Are you-"

The words weren't coming out right

"Are you sure?"

The little girl nodded and started crying.

I stumbled out of the office.


End file.
